All of Our Flaws
by lastdreamofmysoul
Summary: Antonio is a man whose world revolves around anyone but himself. Lovino is a man with dreams bigger than a job behind a drugstore counter. Antonio is broken; Lovino is incomplete. Will a chance meeting lead them to mending their cracks and finding their missing pieces? Human AU, trigger warning for self-harm.
1. Chapter 1

Hello everyone! I've been feeling really down lately due to my recent relapse, so I just wanted to find a way to express myself, I guess. So yeah, here it is! I actually went to the drugstore today to buy more first-aid stuff for myself, so whatever I have written is based on my experience. :) Do let me know if I should continue with the story!

P.S. I might have started on this but I won't be abandoning my other story, Suicide King, just that updates are slow due to the fact that school's started. Thank you for reading, please review/favourite/follow if you like my story. :D

* * *

The familiar sign of the drugstore comes into Antonio's view.

He is used to it by now; used to walking down the same path and going past the same shops, and the tightening in his chest does nothing to slow him down. After all, it has always been there – the way his heart seems to feel heavier as he approaches the drugstore with its shelves of bandages and plasters. Perhaps, in the beginning, his entire mind had once been occupied by flashes of everything – splashes of red and glints of silver – but habit had transformed those into a state of numbness. Habit had changed most of him, apparently. As Antonio approaches the shop, the only thing that he thinks of is whether he will be able to get one of those discounted bundles with two hundred plasters.

He steps into the shop, and his gaze sweeps over the interior emotionlessly. He takes in the advertisements for the latest health supplements stuck onto the cream-coloured walls and the neatly lined-up beauty products before making a beeline for the shelf at the back. Just like he always does.

Antonio scans the rows of first-aid products, feeling the usual passivity take over as he calmly searches for the brand that he normally picks. When he is desperate, he grabs anything, even the ones that are too big to hide and the ones for sensitive skin that stand out, strips of white against his tanned skin. But today is not one of those days. Today Antonio's emotions are a flat line, though he can feel the tension there and he's glad for that because he knows he's got something to unleash later.

Finally, he grabs two boxes and makes a move towards the cashier, feeling a twisted sense of happiness that they did have the discounted bundles with two hundred plasters. He figures two hundred plasters could last him for about a few months, depending. He used to buy gauze and surgical tape, but then it had been too conspicuous and Francis had found out about his "_problem_". That had led to a one-time trip to the therapist and several arguments between them, until Gilbert had stepped in. Antonio sometimes believes that Gilbert might just be the mature one out of them after all.

There is a stranger at the counter, someone Antonio has never seen before. It's not the bored-looking lady, or the fat man with the not-so-well-hidden porn magazines, or the overly-excited girl with the bright pink braces. It's a young man, with auburn hair half-obscuring his face as his attention remains glued to something on his lap. Antonio can guess that the man's drawing something for his hands are moving vigorously back and forth, back and forth, and he stands there for a moment, hypnotized by the light scratching of pencil on paper and captivated by the way the man's nametag catches the light: Lovino, it says, and the monotonous line in his mind peaks as he catches himself thinking about how nice a name it is.

Antonio decides to lean over the counter, and catches a glimpse of what the man is drawing. It's another man; someone tall with dark curls and wearing plain-looking clothes, reaching out for a box – Wait.

The person Lovino has been sketching lets out a breath he had not realised he had been holding, and the other man jerks his head up, shoving the sketchbook and his pencil under the counter in one quick motion.

"Fuck, what do you want?"


	2. Chapter 2

Hello everyone! Thank you so much for reading, reviewing, following and/or favouriting! I'm back with the second chapter. :D

I have to go for therapy tomorrow, and I'm not looking forward to it. I haven't done anything the school counsellor has asked me to do. I haven't written one happy thing per day and I haven't reflected on my triggers. But fuck it - writing makes me feel at least a percent better, so I'm going to just do it.

Also, well, I wanted to talk a bit more about why I'm writing this - I've been to the drugstore before to buy plasters - and _yes, I have gotten the discounted bundle with two hundred plasters_ (I always get the discounted bundle) - and there was this once when the cashier asked me if I had injured myself. I said no, and told her that I was buying the plasters for my school's first-aid kit. It made me wonder: what if someone was like me, just buying too many first-aid materials and a stranger notices and gets the feeling that the first-aid things aren't actually for what they seemed to be for? Given my over-imaginative mind, I started thinking of a story from there: what if the stranger approached that person and then they actually find a friend in each other? Yeah, I know, it's almost impossible for that to happen in real life. People don't even ask if they notice I always have plasters on my wrist. But hey, if it ever happens to someone I'd be really happy for them, so.

Enjoy!

* * *

The bold defiance in the amber eyes that meet his shocks him, and Antonio takes a step back unconsciously, feeling rising panic in his chest. _I shouldn't have looked I shouldn't have looked I should have just stayed out of his way oh god why can't I ever do things right –_

"-ey! Are you alright? What's gotten into you?"

Antonio realizes that Lovino is talking to him, his tone clipped and annoyed, and he gives himself three seconds to recover before shaking his head and forcing a smile. "Nothing, I just wanted to buy these."

Lovino glances at the boxes and grunts, flipping them over to scan the barcode, while Antonio notices how the dark blue uniform of the drug store employees brings out Lovino's fair skin and the way his hair falls across his face so smoothly like silk. His own hand reaches up to comb his unruly curls back, but they remain as untamed as ever.

"Why do you need so many plasters anyway?" Lovino's voice carries no unkindness, only a certain curiosity that all employers loathed. Antonio doesn't reply instantly, but instead chooses to observe the way Lovino's thin fingers deposit the boxes into a purple plastic bag.

"I need to replenish my first-aid kit at home," he responds, smiling sheepishly despite how his wrist, safely hidden under the sleeve of his sweater, suddenly feels itchy. When he takes the bag from Lovino, their fingers brush and Antonio swears he feels a surge of something; something different from the anger and sadness and regret he has been feeling for too long a time. He swears that maybe, just for a second, he feels slightly more alive and his heart grows a little lighter – but it's probably just a figment of his imagination.

Lovino arches an eyebrow and leans forwards on his elbows. "Really?"

Antonio makes the mistake of looking into those piercing eyes again, and he gets the feeling that Lovino is the kind of person who would be able to see through lies. But he has been through this before; and he's sure he can do it again.

Antonio straightens up and widens his smile, looking the other man in the eye. _I can do this. I can do this. _He has been an actor for most of his life, and playing the happy-go-lucky guy has been the role he's most talented at. It's all about facial expression and composure; even when he feels like he's going to crumble into pieces inside, he has become a professional at raising his walls back up again. He's a great actor, alright; but behind those velvet curtains and bright smiles of his lie wreckage and ruin. Yet, all the audience ever sees is what is put up for them. All they ever believe is what Antonio chooses to show. The applause given is never for _him_, but for the role he acts out. Occasionally, he muses about how it would be nice for this terribly long show to finally come to an end. After all, people get bored eventually. Such is the sad truth about performers, and such is the sad truth about Antonio Fernández Carriedo.

Of course, he isn't really starring in movies and walking the red carpet; he just likes to think about his life that way. His backstage is really an office in a publishing company, his script is really a bunch of monthly letters sent in by people asking for advice, and his props are really the laptop that he uses to type out his responses in the advice column.

Still, he switches from Antonio the Columnist to Antonio the Actor and replies with a confident "well, there was a discount", covered with a thin layer of mirth that brings the slightest of smiles to Lovino's lips, and Antonio silently congratulates himself.

The cashier snorts, and keeps the notes Antonio passes to him into the cash register. The tray closes with a bang, and Lovino surprises Antonio by grabbing two rectangular boxes from the shelf beside the counter and brandishing them in front of him.

"These are on discount too. Want them?" Lovino is smirking in a way that does weird things to Antonio's stomach, a hint of something in the prolonged emptiness he has felt since _it_ started. The latter reads the labels on the pink boxes: "Pure Ecstasy. Designed for Extra Comfort and Pleasure" and he laughs – not only because it's in his script but also because of how Lovino's cheeks immediately colour, as if he's regretting making such a move.

The brunette puts the boxes back, suddenly bashful, and disappears into a room after muttering something about checking the stock for bandages. Antonio stares at the pencil Lovino has left on the countertop for a few seconds before turning to leave, feeling the hollowness gradually take over again.


	3. Chapter 3

Hellooooo I'm back with the third chapter! Thank you all so, so much for following, reviewing and/or reading; it really means a lot to me. I hope you enjoy this chapter; even my horrible attempts at making metaphors.

* * *

Antonio is in one of those moods again. Not the ones when he feels incredibly philosophical and starts wondering about life after death, and not the ones when he gets all scientific and starts calculating the minimum height it takes to fall from in order to get his answer to what happens to people after their eyes are shut for the final time.

Antonio has always been good at Physics. He has always been good at the universe, really – he understands electrostatics and kinematics, and he knows that Newton's Third Law states that there is an equal and opposite reaction for every action, meaning that if he were to hit the ground the ground would push back at him; push back all of his mistakes and flaws and memories until he would just be an empty case, sprawled across the concrete.

Sometimes Antonio asks himself why he had not chosen to become a physicist instead. Maybe things would have been better. Maybe he would not have met _her_ then.

But alas, Antonio is a people-person. The universe draws him towards it; everyone he meets exerting some sort of pull on him. He doesn't try to fight back. He never does. His thoughts are forever filled with names that are not his, problems of other people that he ought to be solving just because he thinks they're the only problems worth solving. Even after _her_, he still can't escape. It has always been _them, them, them_, and the moment he pauses and thinks _me_, everything seems to fall apart and the next thing he knows he's sitting on the toilet seat watching his own blood stain the tiles.

As he stops in front of the elevator, it's _them_ again, and he observes everyone getting inside. The editor from the level below his, the cleaner, the cafeteria cooks… He stands there, finger on the button, even though he was the first one reaching the silver doors. No one stops to thank him, and when the cleaning lady smiles and waves in his direction, he cracks a smile back, only to turn and realize that she has been looking at the man behind him.

Antonio immediately looks at his shoes, fingers digging into his palm as the elevator door closes and he steps back, soles carelessly sliding across the polished floor. Strike One.

He's in one of those moods when he feels like he's standing on a tightrope with no safety net below, arms stretched out in a feeble attempt to balance himself. There is an audience below – and he sees Francis and Gilbert at the side.

"You can do it, Antonio!" Francis cheers, and Gilbert gives a whoop, but when Antonio's not looking he's sure they mutter, "He's not going to make it."

The center seats are always given to the strangers. Today, the cleaning lady is a new member, and Antonio mentally seats her at the front with the man she was waving at.

The elevator doors close and he leans against the railing, taking a step forwards on his tightrope. He's alone, and as he watches the numbers increase he mentally prepares himself – puts a smile onto his face, bounces around on the balls of his heels a little, stands slightly taller. He draws on his energy reserves, and by the time the doors open, he can take large, energetic strides out. A woman in a tight-bun bumps into him and shoots him a glare. Strike Two.

In the air, Antonio is starting to wobble. On the tenth floor of the publishing company, Antonio scans his identity card and pulls open the door with practiced bravado.

Strike Three happens when he uses up the remaining coffee powder and a bleary-eyed Lukas steps into the pantry, empty cup in hand.

Strike Four, when he sees the letters on his desk. Wait, there is one thanking him.

_"Thank you, Toni; for the advice. I have patched things up with my parents, and life is looking a lot brighter now." _

He might take away Strike Four. Might.

By the end of the day, Antonio has more than ten strikes and a stack of finished letters and drafts. He has chosen a few for the column, those that he thinks people are more likely to be able to relate to. His boss has told him countless times that he only needs to respond to those that he will use for the magazine, but Antonio writes back to all of them anyway. He puts a little bit of his emotions into them; just a little bit because he doesn't want to open the flood gates, and churns out letters that for some reason bring him grateful replies and even more letters asking for advice. Antonio says that he's just doing what he ought to do, but that only makes the other writers gush on and on about his humbleness.

Antonio doesn't like it when people praise him, but he always answers back with easy smiles anyway.

Stretching and getting up from his chair, Antonio puts on his jacket and gathers his things. His desk is sparse except for his computer and a few random files. A corkboard has been stuck to the partition between him and Elizabeta, and reminders have been pinned on with tomato-shaped thumbtacks. A few photos have also been included, one a group photo with his colleagues, one with Francis and Gilbert. All of them feature the present. The other colleagues have photos of their younger selves, photos of college days and previous vacations to conserve as memories, but Antonio already has the past in front of him without needing any pictures. The past, to him, is still far too fresh to forget.

Elizabeta has left long ago, and Antonio slings his bag over his shoulder, taking a quick glance around the office. Francis is still at his desk, thin fingers rapidly flying over his keyboard as he rushes his draft. He's in charge of the fashion column with Feliks, and their draft is due the next day.

"Bye, Francis," Antonio calls out, pushing his chair in.

The Frenchman pauses his typing and swivels around. Antonio can almost see him calculating in his head, scrolling through every list he has seen on the Google search results for "warning signs of suicide".

"See you tomorrow," he decides to add on, and Francis' face flashes with relief.

"See you." Francis gives a playful wave back, a slight wriggling of his tired fingers that makes Antonio laugh, then retract back to a forced grin when his friend continues, "Take care, okay? Call me if you need anything."

Antonio nods and chirps back an "I will" that he knows is not going to happen because Strike Twenty occurred the moment Francis had spun around with a hint of annoyance at being disturbed.

* * *

When he reaches home, a voice in his head chimes, "Strikeout, Antonio!" and he finally falls.

He hears the audience's clapping as he picks up the blade.


	4. Chapter 4

Hello everyone! How's it going? I'm back with the 4th chapter! Thank you for reading/following/favouriting/reviewing so far, it really means a lot.

This chapter features a relatively graphic self-harm scene, just after the "~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~", so please don't read it if it's triggering for you. The last thing I want to do is to trigger someone, so please, please, **please** skip it or let me know if you find it too triggering. This chapter's about something that I've been through last week - I couldn't stand the stress and did _it_ in the school toilet cubicle but then suddenly my friends came in and there I was with blood on my fingers and they were right outside joking around. In my opinion, it's one of the worst feelings in the world.

Anyway, this is kind of random but I was thinking of starting up this RP blog (well, not really RP but yeah) on Tumblr to give advice to people as APH Spain! I've seen .com (it's a great blog, go check it out!), which has helped me in many ways so I was thinking that it'd be great to have more of such blogs around. Do let me know what you think of this idea of mine; I've never done RP before so I'm really scared about trying it out because I'm afraid I'll screw up. :( Plus, I can't design icons and stuff for nuts. ;_;

Alright, I'll stop talking for now. I hope I described this chapter perfectly; my brain has been dead recently but I really needed to let all the tension from this week out. Enjoy!

* * *

It is Gilbert's idea to visit the new Italian restaurant, and Antonio tries his best not to drag his feet. According to his friend, the restaurant will be opening that day and they ought to go because Gilbert's brother's boyfriend will be there.

"This is the perfect excuse to finally see who West has been hiding from me!" Gilbert exclaims excitedly, using the nickname that he has stuck to Ludwig ever since their parents first mentioned that they behaved as if they were opposite ends of a line.

Now, standing outside a charming restaurant with wine-red drapes, Antonio glances at his watch, and internally questions the existence of lunchtime and Italian restaurants conveniently located near their company. Externally, he laughs and comments, "I'm sure he's just worried you'll steal his boyfriend away."

Outside, the restaurant does not appear special, with garden chairs and tables covered with dark red velvet. But once through the doors, Antonio lets out a small gasp.

The interior is ten times more impressive: there are wooden chairs, each upholstered with a different coloured fabric – green, red or white, the colours of the Italian flag. Fairy lights adorn shelves of ornaments of famous Italian landmarks, paintings featuring landscapes decorate the cream-coloured walls, and there is even a small stage with a standing microphone. Beside him Gilbert whistles, and Antonio smells something that makes his stomach growl. It's tomatoes and cheese and peppers, and that can possibly mean pizza or pasta or something else entirely, but everything seems like an appealing option.

In fact, Antonio's so caught up with the restaurant that he fails to notice the people. _People_, literally everywhere. Sitting at the tables, standing with glasses of wine, laughing and shaking hands… A wave of panic seizes his heart and he unconsciously tugs at his sleeves, only momentarily relieved that he has his backup plan in his pocket.

"Gilbert, what are you doing here?" A deep voice is suddenly heard, and Antonio sees Gilbert's brother Ludwig approaching them, usually stoic face flashing with irritation at the sight of his brother. He nods curtly in acknowledgement at Antonio, sending them a look that seems to say that he will only bother with formalities after dealing with Gilbert, who does not reciprocate his frown but breaks into a large grin.

"Of course I'm here to see whose ass you've been up all this time! Look at how much my baby brother has grown up…" Gilbert wipes a false tear from his eye and sniffs, ignoring the blush that spreads rapidly across Ludwig's cheeks.

"Please don't do anything stupid," Ludwig sighs and combs his hair back, a sign of exasperation. "Today's an important day for Feliciano–"

"Oooooh, so his name's Feliciano?" Gilbert teases triumphantly, to Ludwig's dismay. "Francis?"

Unfortunately for him, Francis has long left their side. Antonio spies their friend at the far end of the restaurant, talking to two women who are hanging on to his every word.

"We'll hunt him down," Gilbert whispers in Antonio's ear.

Antonio responds earnestly, "Okay! I'll get Francis." He smiles promisingly at Gilbert, and then politely at Ludwig, who looks like he's going to die of embarrassment. Antonio makes his way through the crowd, feeling his insides squirm uncomfortably each time he has to squeeze between people. Some people shoot him glares and make noises of annoyance; once again little strikes that Antonio tries to push to the back of his mind because he's here for his friends and he wants to be able to put up a good show.

Unfortunately, he's ambushed by someone. Someone whom he has not seen since he left his last job. Someone whom he never thought, nor wanted, to see again.

It's Sadiq, one of his ex-colleagues. While Antonio had been put in charge of the support groups for teenagers, Sadiq held one-to-one sessions, and until now Antonio has never stopped wondering how a person like him would ever work as a therapist. Sure, from Antonio's experience, Sadiq could be nice to his clients, but not exactly the same to his colleagues.

"Antonio? That you?" Sadiq looks the same, with the same dark hair, the same taunting eyes and the same leer that he always worn when talking to Antonio. The Spaniard has never liked him, not just because of how superficial Sadiq can be but also because of how Sadiq has always had the ability to make him feel incredibly small.

Seeing his old co-worker, Antonio instinctively takes a step back. He can already feel himself shrinking inwards, walls shooting up and hand slowly reaching into his pocket, fumbling for the case. Yet, he can't let Sadiq have the satisfaction, so he forces himself to straighten up and sends back a greeting that is thinly laced with hostility.

"How's it been? I heard you're working as a columnist now. What are you writing about?" Sadiq pats Antonio hard on the shoulder; an unwelcome gesture that brings a pained smile to the latter's face.

"I'm fine, thanks." Antonio's voice sounds strangled as his mind starts the countdown. _60, 59, 58…_ He can hang in there for a while more. "I give advice."

The way Sadiq's eyebrows arch makes Antonio quicken his counting. "Advice?" he says incredulously. "How much do you get paid? What did they offer you that made you leave the institute?"

Antonio's hand clasps firmly around the case. He can feel the blades within them, just behind the plastic. He can visualize the metal; the sharp glint of the edges, just slightly stained red from previous times. He's got his backup plan in his hand now.

"Well, the institute changed a lot after you and Emma left. Oh yes, Emma's birthday is coming, isn't it? We're celebrating it and I was wondering if you'd like to join us–"

Sadiq's voice has taken a turn from mocking to plain cruel, and the mention of her name stabs Antonio in the chest. He feels his heartbeat quicken, feels himself suck in air and the adrenaline starting to course through his veins. _10, 9 no I can't do this anymore_ –

He mutters a quick excuse, and he's off.

He doesn't hear himself asking where the toilet is, doesn't feel the solid wood beneath his shoes, doesn't smell the wafting fragrance of pizza baking in the oven. Everything has blended into _too loud too noisy too crowded need to cut need to cut __**need to cut**_ \- Like a radio playing the same thing over and over again. Broken.

Antonio hates the radio. He wants to pull it out and throw it against the wall, just to make the voices stop. Everyone has their own radio, but Antonio can never manage to tune his. No matter how much he spins the dials, every station emits the same kind of message.

_You should go kill yourself._

Spin.

_The post should have gone to him instead._

Spin.

_You failed to save her._

Spin. Spin. Spin.

_Failure. Useless. Worthless. _

And then there's that one voice, the one that's always in the background, chanting away. _Cut, cut, cut, deeper, deeper, deeper, more, more, more_. Antonio fears that voice the most, because it's the one that he's most familiar with.

It's his.

* * *

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Antonio flings open the door and walks briskly in, pretending that he's merely someone urgently going to relieve himself after too much wine. The two cubicles inside are empty, and he enters one, not even pausing for a moment to hesitate. Despite his haste, the door is shut slowly and gently, not because Antonio is rethinking but because he _knows_ and he's prepared and anticipating.

Down on the toilet seat, up with his sleeves. Out with the case, out with the blade.

It's an all-too familiar routine, and Antonio rests the blade onto his thigh before closing the case, taking comfort in the cold metal.

He can hear Sadiq's words again. He can hear her name, and he can see her face.

_"I'm not feeling well so I'm taking a few days off." _

Antonio picks up the blade again and holds it between his fingers.

_"Finally! I'm back! Look, I've got a few things for you guys since I'm moving house…"_

He presses the edge against his arm. Feeling the sharpness dig in; feeling the indent it forms.

_"Yes, these are mine! You said you liked this sweater a while ago, so I'm giving it to you now!" _

He holds it there for a little while longer, imagining that the blade is not merely sinking into his skin but also into his mind. Imagining that it's bearing into entangled vines of flaws and mistakes and bad memories.

_"Goodbye, everyone! Goodbye, Antonio!"_

He can feel his skin begin to sting.

_"Goodbye."_

He pulls. The pain is numbing, at first, and Antonio's not satisfied. There's something bubbling in his chest – _desperation_ – and his entire being is screaming for more. _Deeper, more, deeper_ –

Antonio brings the blade back, presses it down, and pulls again. He watches his skin tear, watches the blood start to form in droplets.

_No. It's not enough._ There is a gape in his skin now, and blood is starting to fill it up. Dark, dark blood, gathering at the corner of the cut, a drop increasing in size that threatens to fall.

A quick dab with toilet paper saves the floor from getting stained, and Antonio shifts, before bringing the blade to his arm again. There is a thirst for destruction in him, a thirst that rears its ugly head and fills him with a twisted determination to destroy none other then himself.

_I'm sick._ Another cut, and the brief flash of pain that occurs at the initial breaking of skin returns. _I'm disgusting I'm doing this in a new restaurant oh god –_

But he doesn't stop after two. The metal rips into his flesh once again, until there are three gaping wounds and the tissue Antonio has been using is nearly completely stained red. _It's never going to be enough._

And then the door outside swings open, and Antonio freezes because a voice belonging to someone familiar drifts in.

"Sure, Eliza. You can count on your awesome friend!"

It's as if Gilbert's voice shocks Antonio out of his trance, because immediately his entire being is focused on not making a sound. He listens as Gilbert shuffles over to the sinks and running water is heard. The sole door between him and Gilbert suddenly seems too thin, and Antonio quickly lifts his feet off the floor. He presses the tissue to his fresh cuts, feeling the dampness of his blood underneath.

He can imagine Gilbert's disappointed face already. To have his best friend hurting himself just a metre away without him knowing.

"I'm sorry," Antonio would choke out.

"Don't apologize to me. The only person you're letting down is yourself."

_I'm sorry, Gilbert. I've always let everyone down. _

Gilbert has told him again and again to stop apologizing for everything, but Antonio still feels that even a million apologies will never make up for his existence. He is an error, a glitch in this universe that's meant for better people. A waste of space made of mere matter and nothing else. Nothing useful, really, and Antonio feels the need to apologise for that.

* * *

He waits until Gilbert is out of the toilet, before he finally exhales.


	5. Chapter 5

Hello everyone! Thank you all so much for reading! 25 follows is a lot for me; so thank you so, so much for your support. I hope that you all are doing well too. Please remember to take care of yourselves! This might sound really random but I guess some of us (myself included) do need such reminders.

Anyway! I hope I portrayed Lovino alright here; I'm still having a bit of trouble portraying him so I hope I haven't made him too OOC or anything. :( Also, it's currently the Chinese New Year festival from where I'm at, so we're visiting relatives and all that haha. To be honest, I don't really like Chinese New Year because there's so much socialising to do and it tires me out. I feel guilty when I say I'd rather stay at home then go visiting, though. Still, I'm 4 days clean woohoo! I hope you enjoy this chapter; I've been wanting to write it for ages.

* * *

After Gilbert's voice fades and Antonio is left to himself, he feels the familiar numbness returning and all of his feelings gradually fading away into the same, dull line. He finds appreciation in the slight throbbing on his arms and how the hurried thoughts in his head slow down with the spreading blood, and it feels like all of his body is calming down – all that he is made of is returning to Earth, slowly taking root again. The floor suddenly feels secure beneath his feet, the walls suddenly don't feel as close, and the noise from outside suddenly doesn't seem as loud.

Amongst his subsiding emotions, Antonio tastes light, sweet relief, and though he knows the world will not have changed ever since he entered the toilet, he knows that he will be a bit more ready to face it when he steps out. He feels his shoulders relax, and he closes his eyes and just _breathes_; inhales in the vague scent of roses from the air freshener and precious oxygen, and when he exhales again he lets out not just air but the tension that has clasped his entire being as well. It's the coming down after a high, the smooth downwards curve of a graph already marked with anxiety peaks and depression lows.

Antonio wipes the blade with toilet paper, and balances it on top of the toilet paper holder, before pulling out the sweet box in which he keeps his plasters in. He cleans the blood off once more, before unwrapping the plasters and carefully placing the absorbent pads over each wound. Then, noticing that blood is starting to darken the strips, places more adhesive bandages just to be safe. He wraps the discarded paper packages in which the plasters have been taken from in toilet paper and puts it into his pocket, making a mental reminder to throw it later.

The blade is returned to its case, the sweet box closed and the bloody tissues flushed down the toilet bowl – Antonio observes how the water tinges with red before disappearing – and his sleeve tugged down, and Antonio stands up and gives the cubicle a once-over, mentally checking off the list of things that he might have left behind. _Blade? Check. Plasters? Check._ Taking one last deep breath, he unlocks the door and steps out, for the first time noticing the tiled pattern on the walls and the golden shell of the wide mirror in front of two marble sinks. There is a potted plant in the middle of the sinks, its leaves catching in the light.

Antonio sees his reflection in the mirror, and immediately walks to the sink to wash away the shadows left on his face by what he has done behind the cubicle door. He can feel that his initial relief is stained by something else – guilt, and he splashes the ice-cold water onto his face in an attempt to wash it away.

At that moment, the door opens and Antonio freezes, in case it's Gilbert or Francis or Ludwig, but then the person heads to the sink beside him and Antonio catches a glimpse of the other in the mirror. It's neither of them, but as Antonio reaches over to pull a paper towel from the dispenser to wipe the moisture off his face, he recognizes the person.

It's the cashier at the drugstore, the one with the soft auburn-hair and the bold amber eyes.

Antonio searches his mind for a name, and the memories flood back: two boxes of plasters, a sketchbook, a sketch of _him_…

_Lovino_, his mind manages to spew out, and like the first time his heart beats slightly faster, but he's sure it's just because humans like beautiful things and Lovino has a certain beauty about him that Antonio's sure everyone else notices too. The cashier looks up and catches Antonio's eye, fierce amber meeting bright green and flickering in recognition.

"Hey, aren't you the guy who bought two boxes of plasters? What are you doing here?" Lovino is the first one who speaks, and Antonio notices that the other has been using a moist paper towel to wipe off a purplish stain on his white dress shirt.

"Well… My friend kind dragged me here because he wanted to meet his brother's boyfriend," Antonio explains lamely, scratching the back of his head and unconsciously taking a step back because as much as Lovino seems to exert a pull on him to stay and talk, guilt is also tugging at the back of his mind to leave and go.

"Wait a minute." Lovino's eyes narrow in suspicion. "What's the name of your friend's brother's boyfriend?" He places an emphasis on "boyfriend", as if waiting in anticipation for something.

"I haven't met him yet, but I think his name sounds something like…" Antonio thinks for a moment and recalls Ludwig mentioning it. "Feliciano?"

Lovino slams the paper towel onto the edge of the sink, throwing his head back and groaning. "Argh I can't believe this is happening!"

Antonio glances at the stain on Lovino's shirt and then contemplates offering a handkerchief to him, when Lovino looks at him again and says, "I can't decide if I should say that it's a small world or curse the potato bastard for bringing more bastards into our life."

Antonio doesn't understand him, and responds with a quizzical look. "Feliciano's my brother," Lovino groans again and explains exasperatedly, as if the mention of his brother brings back many bad memories. "He owns this restaurant."

Antonio wants to ask why Lovino is working in a drugstore and not in his brother's restaurant, but then decides against it when he sees the scowl on Lovino's face. He's known for being thick-headed at times, but for some reason when around Lovino he wants to tread on eggshells and choose his words carefully.

But most importantly, he still wants to know why Lovino was drawing him that day.

"Gilbert's Ludwig's brother," Antonio adds on, and immediately annoyance flashes across Lovino's face.

"That loud German? Oh god I wish he hadn't come.

Antonio feels the need to defend his friend, despite the gnawing guilt that strengthens at the mention of Gilbert's name, and says, "Gilbert's my friend."

And then, afraid of sounding far too defensive and rude, Antonio quickly follows, "He isn't that bad once you get to know him."

"Oh really? Then how about the blond one? Stupid bastard tried to hit on me and ended up spilling wine onto my shirt…"

Antonio can imagine Francis doing so, and he chuckles, feeling his heart sink at how obvious the nervousness in his laugh is. "That's just Francis being Francis."

Then, he thinks about the times when Francis and Gilbert have comforted him and defended him against prying eyes too curious about peeking bandages and long sleeves, and he continues, "They aren't that bad, really."

Lovino snorts. "We'll see about that. And you don't happen to have a handkerchief, do you?"

Antonio fumbles in his back pocket and pulls out the striped fabric, which Lovino accepts with a muttered "thank you" and uses to dab over the stain. "You don't seem as bad, though," he says, before hastily adding, his cheeks starting to colour, "I-I mean! You're just not as loud and rude. But your friends are just exceptionally obnoxious. Okay you know what, I'm just going to get a new shirt from the car…"

And then Lovino rushes out the toilet before Antonio can even point out that his handkerchief is still with him.


	6. Chapter 6

Hello everyone! Thank you so much for reading! 30 follows is a big deal for me, especially since I'm still really new to fanfiction writing and all. So thank **you**, really.

This chapter is mainly focused on Lovino, and I actually wrote it twice because I'm having quite a bit of a problem writing Lovino's character so I really hope this part is alright. Also, the tense in this chapter is kind of weird, so I apologise for that too. ;_; Another thing is, this is my first time writing such a story too so I'm really worried about whether I'm romanticizing suicide/depression in anyway so if I am doing so, please do let me know!

On a side note, things have been going pretty alright for me so far right now and I'll be giving therapy another shot, so yeah. Please don't worry about me everyone, and please take care of yourselves too. Have a great day! 3

* * *

Lovino only rediscovers the striped handkerchief when he collapses onto the couch. He leans against the fabric and groans at the ceiling, covering his face with his hand and silently letting the events of the day flash past in glimpses in his brain. _Feliciano's new restaurant, Feliciano's annoying guests, Feliciano's even __**more**__ annoying boyfriend_ (argh, Lovino couldn't stand the mere sight of that bastard), _Feliciano's –_

"Fratello! You hungry?"

The throbbing in Lovino's head worsens with the sound of his hyperactive brother's voice, all filled with too much excitement and cheerfulness as usual. He leans forwards and massages his temples, yelling back to his brother in the kitchen, "No! Haven't we eaten enough already?"

"But I want to try this new recipe out! Francis said that if I added wine it might make it more –"

"Don't mention that bastard's name again! He fucking ruined my favourite shirt…" Lovino grumbles the last part to himself and adjusts his position on the couch, slightly sulking at the thought of his stained shirt now lying in the laundry basket. He feels something in his back pocket and reaches for it, feeling the touch of fabric beneath his fingers. He pulls the handkerchief out, its light blue now slightly tinged purple, and whatever happened in the toilet comes back to him.

By some odd twist of fate, he had met the same man he had seen in the drugstore just two weeks ago, and he had found out that that same man also happened to be a friend of the two troublemakers who had kept on teasing Feliciano and Ludwig. This was definitely a more surprising realization than the revelation that the potato bastard had fantastic _connections_, for the man in the drugstore did not and still does not strike Lovino as someone as boisterous and shameless as his apparent cronies. The two times Lovino had seen him, the latter had seemed entirely absorbed in a world of his own – he had observed his customer making a beeline for the first-aid shelves as if there had been nothing else in the world but him and discounted boxes of plasters, and when he had entered the toilet he had noticed the way the other had been keeping his head down as though the ice cold water splashing against his face had been the only thing that existed.

Observing people has always been one of Lovino's skills, and one of his favourite things to do. To him, most people always fail to notice the little things about others; the things that really matter. Like how his usually grumpy colleague has begun humming "Love Story" ever since the handsome barrista started working in the nearby café, even though she always goes on about how she hates love songs. Or how the old woman living next door always lingers at her doorway before closing the door, with eyes deteriorated with age that somehow still manage to remain fixated on the stairs in the fruitless expectancy of someone who will no longer come home.

He still does not know the tanned stranger's name, but there had been something about him that had drawn Lovino in; that had led to Lovino surreptitiously reaching for his sketchbook and putting lead to paper. The stranger had had a nice physique (though Lovino will never admit it), but that had not been what had moved Lovino's hand across the paper. He had watched as the stranger scanned the shelves, hair falling slightly across his face in soft mocha curls, and the way the taller man had reached out and took the boxes had seem mechanical, as if it had been part of a routine. Lovino had never seen anyone move like that before, and it made him curious as to how someone could be so interested in boxes of plasters. When the stranger had finally come to the counter and Lovino had shoved his sketchbook roughly away and caught sight of the _most striking emerald eyes _ever, he had had a sudden flashback.

The customer had taken a step back, eyes flickering with something that had verged on panic momentarily before dissolving into cool calmness and a bright smile, but it had brought back a certain memory of cracked nail polish and dainty fingers wrapped around a mug. For just a second, Lovino had thought of _someone_, someone with a sunny smile that had not quite reached her chartreuse eyes. Or had her eyes been blue? Lovino had not been sure, and he had stopped trying to remember upon catching a glimpse of his customer pushing his curly hair back, only messing it up further. The Italian's cheeks had suddenly felt a little hotter, and Lovino had quickly fired back with a question but the slight brush of skin against skin and the stranger's apologetic smile had been enough to make Lovino feel horribly aware of how unflattering his uniform must have made him look.

The stranger's response had been amusing, for _who actually bought so many plasters for the sake of a discount?_ Nevertheless, it had brought the telltale signs of laughter up Lovino's throat – the familiar bubbling that Lovino had quickly suppressed with a snort.

_But why the hell did he have to pull the condom boxes out?_ Lovino had been berating himself on it ever since. It had been a rash move on his part, but for what? To impress the stranger with his sense of humor? The other had laughed, a hearty chuckling that had made Lovino feel slightly dizzy and his cheeks burn even more because _it had been such a nice sound_, and Lovino had ran away.

_Fuck, why do I always run away from everything? _

The second time had been the same. Lovino had been pleasantly surprised about how much of a coincidence it had been, especially since the day in the drugstore when he had emerged from the backroom finding his customer long gone had left a slight disappointment in his heart. He had gone back to work and told himself to forget about the stranger, for it had been just _another_ customer with _another_ handsome smile and _another_ delightful laugh and they had just happened to meet; that was all. But they had encountered each other again, and it had been a wonderful coincidence that Lovino had escaped on impulse. Again.

Upon seeing that the person washing his face in front of the mirrors was someone familiar and, more importantly, it was a _certain_ someone, Lovino had once again become painfully aware the ugly stain on his chest and how ridiculous he must have seemed until he had noticed the wet patch on the top of the not-quite-stranger's own dress shirt, courtesy of its wearer's own vigorous splashing and _why the heck did he care anyway_. Again, the other had looked a little lost, his entire face spelling out his discomfort regarding crowded opening days. Lovino had discovered that the other was Spanish, from the lilt in his accent. But there had also been something else that Lovino had noticed: the other man had looked almost… Guilty. It had been an expression that Lovino had recognized, for he had seen it on Feliciano whenever he told a lie and in his own reflection, whenever he snapped at someone.

Lovino couldn't quite figure it out, but it had occurred to him that apparently, even water had been unable to wash off whatever the stranger's expression had worn.

* * *

And now Lovino has his handkerchief. Which he does not mind keeping, actually, as long as it reminds him of the way a certain Spaniard's hair was slightly flattened by water – _wait, no_, with his newfound discovery of Feliciano's boyfriend's "acquaintances", he might be able to return the favour. And maybe, a small part of him also hopes that he will see the other man again.


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: Hello everyone! I'm finally back from my extremely long hiatus! So much has happened over the time that I haven't been updating, which has given me a lot of inspiration for this story.

This chapter focuses mainly on Francis and Gilbert's perspective of Antonio, and I hope it gives you an insight into how the people around you actually care about you, even though it might not seem like they do, because sometimes people don't know how to help, or they are afraid to make the first step. This is slightly inspired by my own experience - I had a friend who self-harmed and while trying to help her, I made a lot of mistakes and approached her wrongly even though my intention was to make her feel better. Which I still blame myself for, but yeah.

I know sometimes it might seem like nobody around you really cares, but believe me, there will always be people who do. And I hope that whoever who reads this will have a great day today, and that something extraordinary wonderful will happen to you. Please remember to take care of yourselves too. I love you all *hugs*

* * *

It's going to be a good day. The sun seems to light up the world, and the air smells of sweet freshness. Antonio has been clean for two weeks, and when he gets into his car and starts the engine he even whistles a little.

It's the beginning of a new week, and Antonio's trying to keep positive. He tries every week, but the next day always gets harder to face, and he always finds it a lot more difficult to get up then. When he opened his eyes that morning, the only thing he saw was the familiar whiteness of his ceiling, and for once there was no flashback to moments of falling apart behind his eyelids. Two weeks is a long time, and Antonio feels a small sense of accomplishment. It's not often that he can go for that long a time and in a way there is a sense of pride for himself blooming in his chest.

His mind is quiet, and there are no malevolent voices speaking. He realizes this, lets out a shuddering breath of relief, and presses the pedal. Today is going to be a good day.

At work he's more productive than usual, as he sifts through his letters and whips up responses. He doesn't pay any attention to anything or anyone, and the sound of his hurried typing gives a rhythm to the rapidly spinning gears in his head. _Don't stop_, he tells himself, as he goes from one letter to another. He throws himself completely into work and doesn't even notice that it's lunchtime until Francis raps his knuckles on his desk, causing him to jump.

"Toni, it's already half an hour into lunchtime," his friend reminds him. Antonio finally looks up from his computer and rubs his eyes. Francis is standing over his desk, elbow resting on the divider and expression overlaid with a hint of concern. For a moment he wonders where Gilbert is, but then he feels two hands on his shoulders, shaking him gently.

"Come on, we've been waiting for you and I'm hungry," Gilbert declares, but when Antonio declines with a "it's alright, I'm not hungry", the former snaps to attention and turns Antonio's swivel chair around until he is subject to both of his friends' worried scrutiny.

"You need to eat," Gilbert states simply, before exchanging uneasy looks with Francis. Antonio hates it when his friends do that. It makes him feel trapped by their ever-present anxiety, as if every move that he makes will be subjected to their screening to decide whether he is doing fine. It makes him feel guilty as well, because he can see that the concern on their faces is real.

Just then, Antonio's stomach lets out a loud rumble and all three of them pause and stare at his abdomen.

_Traitor_, Antonio curses his stomach, before standing up with a defeated sigh.

* * *

On the way to the food court, an unusual silence apart from a few awkward remarks follows the trio, and Antonio knows that the same thing is on Gilbert and Francis' minds. He can feel the weight of it on his mind, and suddenly it strikes him that he has become a burden to his friends. Antonio tries to suppress that thought; but it grows and spreads like poison until he feels like screaming at his friends to just leave him alone because he doesn't deserve people who care for him and he doesn't deserve friends. He doesn't deserve anything, really, but the moment he opens his mouth to tell Francis and Gilbert that they ought to find someone who would be a better friend than he is, another thought occurs. _What if they thought he was only trying to sound pitiful? What if they thought he only wanted attention?_

At that moment, Gilbert decides to speak. "So… Your therapist called yesterday. She said you haven't been responding to her emails and that you haven't been attending your appointments."

A wave of irritation washes over, but Antonio manages to quell it and answers his German friend nonchalantly. "So you guys have been in contact with her behind my back."

"We're sorry for doing so but… We thought by talking to her we'd be able to better help you," Francis interjects, confirming Antonio's suspicion that the people whom he would call his best friends have been in cahoots with his therapist all this time. The realization makes him snap.

He doesn't really know what made him shout at his friends – for out of all people, Antonio is always the least likely to yell at someone – but he stops abruptly in his steps and bursts out, "Help me? You thought having my own friends working with _her_ secretly would help me? I've told you before – I don't like going to therapy. I don't feel like she understands me, and now it seems like the both of you don't too."

There is a pained smile on Antonio's face, but his eyes meet Francis and Gilbert's in a fiery fashion that is uncharacteristic and that makes the two of them take a step back. Francis' face immediately flashes with hurt, and in an instant he makes a move to apologise, only to get interrupted by Gilbert.

"We care for you, Toni. And I know it's hard to talk about it but how are we supposed to understand you if you don't even let us help you?"

"I already told you, I'm not ready to talk about it."

"Then when will you be ready? That was what you told us last year! You need to stop fucking running away from your problems!"

"Gilbert!" Francis grabs the silver-haired man's arm forcefully, shooting him a warning look. Gilbert's eyes are blazing in anger too, but he pulls his arm away and takes a deep breath before speaking again.

"Look, Toni, I'm really sorry if-"

"No, I understand. I should be the one apologizing. I'm sorry for being the problematic friend, the one who constantly has issues. You'd be a lot better without me," Antonio says flatly, turning around and walking away. "Go ahead and eat without me. I'm not hungry."

"Antonio, wait!" Francis makes a last attempt to call for his friend, but the latter is already taking firm steps away from them and doesn't seem to be intending to turn back.

"Fuck!" Gilbert kicks the wall beside them, slamming his fists into the hard concrete. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Francis sighs," Gilbert-"

"I messed up again. I just couldn't keep my big mouth shut!" There is desperation in Gilbert's voice, and Francis immediately shushes him because people are beginning to stare. He mouths an apology to the passers-by, clamping a hand on Gilbert's shoulders and urging him to a nearby alley.

"I just… I don't know how to help him, Franny. I really don't know. I don't know what he's going through, and I don't know how to make him feel better. And it kills me inside because I feel like a fucking useless friend. I can't even help him. Mein Gott…" Gilbert runs his hands, knuckles now reddened from punching the wall, over his face, and Francis feels a sting in his chest at the thought of how much their friendship has been put through. All three of them met in high school, and while all of them got different jobs at first – with Francis in fashion design, Gilbert in engineering and Antonio in psychology – they ended up in the same office after Antonio quit his job because Francis and Gilbert decided that it had been worth leaving their jobs too in order to keep a better eye on their friend. But it seemed like no matter what they did, Antonio was still the same.

"Gil, I don't know how to help him either. But we have been trying, haven't we? It pains me to see Toni this way, but I don't want to see you falling apart too," Francis explains, and Gilbert can see the truth in his face because his normally clear blue eyes are marred by the grief that always surfaces whenever they talk about Antonio.

"Do you hear me? We need to stay strong. For him. Yes, I know you can be a bit of a loudmouth sometimes but that doesn't mean you haven't been trying."

"I just… I know I'm always trying to act normally and not make him feel too out of place but…" Gilbert pauses, thinking of how he has been trying to keep up with his obnoxious demeanor to hide the fact that before he steps into the office everyday, he has to close his eyes and count to three because he's afraid that one day Antonio might just not turn up at work anymore. He's afraid that when he calls Antonio, he's not going to get an answer and when he goes to Antonio's house the only things he would find would be an unlocked door and a note addressed to him on the desk. He's afraid that one day, he would lose Antonio.

"You know," Gilbert finally exhales, and lets himself fall back against the wall. "I miss those days when we were happier."

"Believe me, Gil. I do, too." And Francis means what he says. When he first saw Antonio, the Spaniard had entered class late and had muttered apologies over and over again to the teacher, but there was something about him that just seemed to make the whole room light up. Maybe it was that huge smile of his, or the spark in his emerald eyes whenever he spoke about his passions, but Francis found a friend in him and so did Gilbert. The three of them had stuck together – happy Antonio, loud Gilbert and flirtatious Francis – as they had been known in high school, and remained friends as adults.

Antonio always loved helping people, and when he got the job as a counselor everyone thought he'd be happy. But they were wrong, because one day he told Francis and Gilbert on the phone that he didn't want his job anymore. Francis had been afraid that Antonio would get too involved with other people's problems – because that was how he was. Passionate, kind, and ever ready to throw himself into other people's worlds in order to help them. Francis thought that it was just his own paranoia that Antonio's kindness would break him, but it turned out to be the truth.

Antonio got more and more tired, and the light in his eyes started to falter. Francis and Gilbert had advised him to take a break, but he refused to. Until one of his colleagues and closest friends, Emma, committed suicide. Antonio had been utterly devastated, and he had locked himself in his house for days. Everyone had been incredibly worried about him, and it was only after countless visits from his friends and days of keeping to himself that he finally told them that he was feeling better. Francis and Gilbert had been stupid enough to believe him when they heard that he was going to get over Emma's death, because even when they got their new jobs, an accidental view of the band aids on Antonio's wrist one day told them that he was less than fine.

"I'll say sorry to him later," Gilbert stands back upright, slipping an arm around Francis' shoulders. "We'll give him some time to be alone for now, I guess."

Gilbert has always been one to recover quickly, but Francis can still see the insecurity in his eyes. Yet, when Gilbert turns to face him and speaks in a voice that has a hint of newfound determination, Francis is secretly relieved that he has Gilbert – who beneath his impulsive surface is actually much stronger than Francis himself can ever be – to rely on.

_"But I don't care. No matter what it takes, we're going to find a way to help him."_

* * *

Please review/favourite/follow if you like! It'll mean a lot to me :D


	8. Chapter 8

Guess who's back? I've been writing this chapter bit by bit, and here it is! It's a fluffy chapter, I guess - Lovi and Toni handle a lost child in a shopping mall. ;) Hope you like it!

* * *

Antonio doesn't realize where he's going until he feels something tugging on his pants. He snaps out of his trance and looks down, only to see a little girl with tears on her face.

"E-excuse m-me… I l-lost my mommy…" the girl stutters, wiping her eyes with chubby hands and sniffing. Her dark brown hair is pulled into two cute pigtails, and she's wearing a white dress that reminds Antonio of a little angel, and it takes a while for him to take in the fact that she's lost.

Antonio takes a glance around, looking for a woman desperately combing the crowds for her daughter, but everything seems normal, so he bends down until he's the girl's height. "I'll help you, okay?" The Spaniard sends the girl the biggest smile he can muster, even though Francis and Gilbert's words are still an echo in his mind and he can only push his hurt away again.

It works, because the girl stops crying and stares into his eyes for a moment. The childish innocence in her hazel eyes makes Antonio's heart surge with something that he can't quite name, and he takes her hand reassuringly, filing the feeling of having a smaller hand in his in his memory.

"Don't worry, we'll find her. But you have to promise you won't cry, alright?"

The girl nods hesitantly, before slowly raising up her other hand. "Okay. P-pinky promise?"

Antonio suddenly recalls himself doing the same thing once, to his kindergarten teacher when they were he was still a little boy and had fallen down and scrapped his knee. His teacher had a bright smile too, and when his little finger wrapped around hers he somehow knew that everything was going to be okay.

"Pinky promise!" Laughing, he gently curves his finger around her delicate pinky. "Everything's going to be okay."

Unknowingly, Antonio had walked into a mall earlier on, and he scoffs at himself while leading the girl to the second floor, where she last saw her mother. He's getting into those "trances" more and more often, he realises. Where he would just live in his mind and keep on thinking about _things_ and then not really be conscious about where he's going. Maybe one day, he would walk across a road and not see an incoming car-

"That's the place! I think Mommy mentioned she was going there?"

Antonio turns, only to see another branch of the drug store that he normally goes to get his "supplies". "There? The drug store? Okay, we'll see if she's in there!"

When they walk in, Antonio immediately feels the blade in his back pocket grow heavier, and suddenly the whole place – with its shelves of band aids and bandages – seems to be too impure for the little girl beside him. He suddenly feels that _he's_ dirty, and the band aids under his sleeve burn.

Nevertheless, he leads the girl around the store, weaving between shelves to see if they can find her mother. When the only person they see is a man spending too long a time looking at vitamins, Antonio decides to ask the cashier, and is surprised when he encounters a familiar set of amber eyes.

"You again?" Lovino stands up abruptly, pointing one accusing finger at Antonio and arching his eyebrows in disbelief.

Antonio lets out a nervous laugh. "Yeah, we're always running into each other, aren't we?"

Lovino gives a "hmph" and rolls his eyes, before noticing the little girl at Antonio's side. There is curiosity reflected in his expression, and Antonio senses something unreadable in the way the other man starts chewing on his lip thoughtfully.

"And who is this little bella?" Lovino reaches over the counter and ruffles the girl's hair, the frown on his face making way for a smile as he looks her up and down. "I'm assuming she's your daughter…?"

The way Lovino says "daughter" is careful, yet expectant, and when Antonio shakes his head and tells him that she is lost and is looking for her mother, Lovino lets out an "oh" that sounds a bit like a sigh of relief.

"I mean there's no woman like that here, except that weird guy at the back!" Lovino hurries to clarify, and coughs into his hand.

"My mommy's not… Here?" the girl's face falls, and her eyes soon become clouded with tears that fill Antonio's heart with dread.

"She isn't here but we'll find her! I promised you just now, remember?" Antonio panics, but the girl bursts into tears and suddenly he feels stupid squatting in front of Lovino and not being able to stop her crying.

"Have you made an announcement at the information counter?" Lovino asks, and Antonio looks up to see the other standing with his arms crossed, unimpressed at his attempts. The Spaniard shakes his head again, and watches as the cashier sighs dramatically and comes out from behind the counter.

"I knew it. You're clueless at this. My co-worker's going to be back soon, I'll go with you after that," Lovino announces, while grabbing a lollipop from the counter and handing it to the girl. "Here you go, bella. Do you like sweets? This is your reward for being so brave and knowing to ask for help. We'll help you find your mom; don't you worry."

"Did you… Did you just _steal_ a lollipop?" Antonio whispers to Lovino, as the girl's face lights up at the sight of the candy, and her chubby fingers eagerly unwrap the lollipop.

"Fuck _that_," Lovino fiercely whispers back, the only thing that reminds Antonio that under the gentle tone that he's speaking in to the girl, the direct and fiery man that he first met is still there. Antonio has the feeling that Lovino only allows this part of him to take over when he's talking to girls, or children, but he finds the other man's seemingly uncharacteristic warm smile and the way he and the girl seem to forge a bond immediately endearing anyway.

When Lovino's co-worker, a skinny man with braces, returns, Lovino tells him that he's heading off on an "errand". The nerdy-looking man glances from Antonio to the girl, and merely responds with a solemn nod, "Family errand, huh? I understand."

Antonio feels his cheeks grow slightly warmer, but before he can explain the girl's predicament to Lovino's co-worker, Lovino himself fires back with a "you wish!" and flips the bird at the now-confused man.

As Antonio feels himself being pushed out of the drug store, he hears Lovino ask the girl, "You didn't see that did you, bella? No? Good."

Lovino doesn't really know why he volunteered to help Antonio with his crusade to aid a lost girl. In fact, he doesn't question himself until he's outside the store and he sees Antonio's startling green eyes watching him.

_Now, why did I even agree to this? _"Right. Let's go to the information counter." Lovino awkwardly breaks the silence, and starts leading the way to the escalator. He feels a smaller hand grasp his fingers, and gazes down to see the little girl nonchalantly licking her lollipop and pretending that she did not just grab his hand.

Despite himself, Lovino sticks out his tongue triumphantly at Antonio, who's still looking at their clasped hands and sputtering at the girl's open display of favoritism. Lovino has always been good at children, which many people find surprising given how blunt he can be and the barrage of insults that can fly from his mouth the moment he gets annoyed. It's something that Lovino's secretly proud of, but he knows that it's because he's familiar with all the emotions a kid can feel – neglected, unloved, lost – and it has enabled him to communicate with them easily.

Growing up, Lovino always felt inadequate compared to Feliciano. For one, his grandfather, who took care of the brothers since their parents were often away on business trips across the world, seemed to favour Feliciano. Feliciano was good at everything – cooking, drawing, singing, and it made Lovino feel small and useless. Lovino loved art as well, but he enjoyed painting people, which was something that his grandfather failed to appreciate. Romulus Vargas only had an eye for beautiful landscapes, which was what Feliciano did best and what Lovino, no matter how hard he tried, couldn't really capture properly. He would always shower Feliciano with compliments, but whenever Lovino brought forward a sketch, he would simply tilt his head and force out a "not bad".

As a child, Lovino would curse petulantly at the unfair treatment, but right now he's glad that he has his personal experience to rely on when handling children.

"Well, princess, what's your name? It's nice calling you beautiful but I'd love to know your name," Lovino tells the girl charmingly, and she giggles out a "Maria".

"That's a really sweet name; I'm Lovino," he sticks out his other hand, and the girl unclasps her hand from his and shakes it excitedly.

"Lovi!" she laughs again, more cheekily this time. "I'll call you Lovi!"

"Hey, don't call me- Argh, fine. I surrender." Lovino holds up both his hands when the girl looks at him imploringly, and then he turns to Antonio and, with false disinterest in his voice, asks for his name.

"Since we've met thrice now, you ought to give me your name." _And your number_, the traitorous voice at the back of Lovino's head suddenly speaks up, and Lovino mentally slaps himself. What the fuck was he thinking?

"I'm Antonio!" The other man chirps and extends his hand, and Lovino eyes it for a moment before taking it and shaking awkwardly. He tries not to notice the way their hands seem to perfectly fit each other, until Maria chimes in with a "Lovi is blushing! Lovi is blushing!"

"I'm not!" Lovino denies, roughly pulling his hand back. "I'm not… Interested in you or anything! I just came along because you looked so damn clueless and stupid-h-hey stop giving me that look!"

_Don't look into those eyes. Don't look into those eyes. Shit._ Antonio's giving Lovino the look of a kicked puppy, and Lovino immediately apologises.

"I-I didn't mean it! I'm sorry, okay? Shit, I'm sorry-"

"No no no, it's okay! I know I'm pretty useless ahahaha…" Antonio simply waves him off with a smile, but Lovino still feels a stab of guilt. Thankfully, Maria saves the day by tugging on Lovino's hand and pestering him about her mother.

The trio reaches the escalator, and Lovino points out the shops they pass by as they descend. "…and that's the shop with the rude old lady I saw last week. She was really fu-"

Antonio suddenly cuts in, clamping a warning hand on Lovino's shoulder. "Yeah, I bet she was really funny! Right, Lovi?"

"Right… Wait, who said _you_ could call me that?"

"You're being unfair, Lovi. If I can call you Lovi, Toni can too!" Maria pulls back her hand from Lovino's abruptly, crossing her arms defiantly and glaring at him.

"Why, you little… Hold my hand, we're on the escalator, it's dangerous!"

"Not until you allow Toni to call you Lovi."

"No."

"Yes."

"Urm, it's really okay, Lovino-"

"I don't care! I'm not holding your hand until you agree!"

"Fine." _Fuck, less than half an hour with these two and I'm already turning into a fucking pansy._

They finally arrive at the bottom, and Lovino marches straight to the counter.

"Away for Lunch". "The heck?" Lovino swears, pointing at the sign. "You've got to be kidding me!"

"That must be why we never heard any announcement. Maria's mother is probably looking around the whole mall for her now," Antonio points out, putting a protective arm around Maria, whose crestfallen face seems to be on the verge of tears again.

"Argh… Fucking irresponsible staff…I'll just have to do this myself, then."

"Wait, what are you doing?"

Lovino storms past the counter, exaggeratingly lifting one leg over the barrier and then hopping across, before grabbing the microphone and flicking a random switch on. "I am doing what the asswipe who's supposed to be here ought to be doing. Hello? Testing one-oh shit, it's the wrong one."

"I think it's this one." Antonio joins Lovino behind the counter, and simply flicks on the switch that has been on the microphone stand all the time. Lovino "ah"s, and for a moment they just stand and stare as the light on the microphone turns on. They both look at each other, and suddenly Lovino feels something bubbling up from the pits of his stomach – something that he tries to suppress because _no one can really make Lovino Vargas laugh_, but the next thing he knows, he's laughing.

He's laughing at himself, he's laughing at their awkward introduction just now, and he's laughing at the way Antonio stares at him in dumbfounded wonder before bursting into laughter himself. It's a liberating feeling, the way all of the tension in his muscles seems to unwind at the shaking of his own body. Antonio's laugh is gentle at first, but then he throws back his head and laughs with abandon, and the way his lips are curled and his hair falls across his eyes is enough to make Lovino go silent.

The bright green in Antonio's eyes sparks something in Lovino – and he identifies it as the urge to make art. The urge to paint, to sculpt – to attempt to recreate the way Antonio's eyes are twinkling, so different from how they first seemed when Lovino first saw him. Lovino finally understands that it's the inspiration artists get to create masterpieces, and Antonio's one hell of a masterpiece. Sure, he doesn't know the Spaniard yet, but he knows a masterpiece when he sees one – he knows that all beautiful paintings have a story behind them, and behind Antonio's brilliant eyes he can see many things about him that Lovino finds himself wanting to learn about. He wants to know Antonio's favourite color, his favourite book, his favourite movie. He wants to know Antonio.

"Yourhandkerchief'satmyhousemaybewecangooutanothertimesoIcangiveitbacktoyou?" Lovino blurts out, feeling his neck grow hot as Antonio stops laughing and responds with a "huh?"

_Argh, I can't believe that bastard's so clueless!_ Lovino chooses to ignore Antonio, spinning around and testing the microphone. He announces that a little girl named Maria is lost, and yes, she is at the information counter and in safe hands, if one would consider the two men to be reliable people. Soon enough, a woman with the same brown hair as Maria rushes to the counter, sweeping the girl up in her arms and peppering kisses all over her face.

"Maria! Thank goodness I found you! I was looking everywhere for you, and I couldn't find the announcer. Were these two men the people who helped you?"

"Yeah! I approached Toni first, and then Lovi joined in!" Maria points at Antonio and Lovino, who both shrug sheepishly.

"Thank you so, so much," the woman says gratefully, and Lovino can see the resemblance between mother and daughter in her clear eyes. "I was so worried about Maria, and I'm glad that she met such helpful people."

"You're welcome!" Antonio's the first to respond, and Lovino only replies with a small smile.

"Speaking of which…" the woman fumbles in her bag, pulling out a flyer. "I know this sounds a little weird but I have a friend who's working in an orphanage and they need extra help with the fundraising that the kids are going to put up! You two seem to be good at kids because Maria doesn't usually trust adults easily, so I was wondering if you'd like to help out."

Antonio takes the flyer from her, looking at the address and details. "Music teachers needed… Well, I can teach the kids to play the guitar! I suppose I might be able to take a few days leave? I'm sure my boss will finally be glad that I'm taking a break anyway."

_Should I do it?_ Lovino takes the flyer, and sees that the orphanage is looking for artists to auction their art too. It's definitely a good cause to make art for, plus it would mean that he would have an excuse to paint but… "Would people buy my art?"

There it is again. That feeling of inadequacy, seeping into his veins as he recalls how his paintings were never given as many compliments as his classmates', or Feliciano's.

"Wow you can paint, Lovi? That's impressive! You should give it a shot!" Antonio is looking at him encouragingly, and the part of Lovino that leapt for a reason to make art in the first place wins. Along with the part that is overjoyed at the fact that Antonio will be there too. _Fuck_.

"Alright, I'm in."

"Really? Thank you! I can't believe we had the luck to meet such kind souls," the woman passes a notebook to Antonio and Lovino, asking for their contact numbers. She wraps an arm around Maria, telling her that she's picked the right people.

"My friend will contact you about the details soon. Once again, thank you for your help," the woman quips, before shooting Antonio and Lovino one last appreciative smile and then walking off hand-in-hand with Maria.

* * *

"Bye Lovi! Bye Toni!" Maria waves, flashing them a toothy grin.

Her mother laughs, asking her daughter jokingly, "Just wondering, what made you ask that man for help?"

"Hmm… I dunno. Maybe it was because he seemed a little lost too."

* * *

So yes, that's it! I have this headcanon that Lovino's really good at children, because of how he has felt in the past as a child, so yeah, hopefully I didn't make him too OOC :) And I read this fanfic about Lovi and Toni with children (And Three Makes Five) and they're all absolutely adorable! I hope you liked this chapter, it was definitely fun to write! I also really hope that Lovi and Toni's relationship is progressing alright... Any thoughts on how I can improve? Please do review! I love getting reviews 3


	9. Chapter 9

Hello everyone! It's been quite a while since I last updated, right? And yeah, I'm really sorry for that ;_; But to be honest I originally had no plot for this story. I just kind of jumped in without thinking, and now it seems that the characters have a life of their own and I'm constantly getting new inspiration every day! One thing, though, I realise that I have literally no writing experience at all. I'm actually still in high school and I don't even take Literature anymore so I don't get any practice or skills from school. This makes me feel very insecure about my writing, so it'd be awesome if you all could give me feedback on how I can improve! I'm still in the process of exploring my writing style, but I was aiming for something raw and emotional and I hope you can let me know if I have achieved that. :D Sometimes, I don't see the point of writing fanfiction but what keeps me going is the hope that I can inspire someone to recover.

This chapter is more of a fluffy chapter, but kind of has a bit of sadness in it, I guess! I know it might seem abrupt to some about how Antonio seems a lot happier in this chapter, but I wanted to bring out how volatile having depression can be. For me, something small can make me gain hope again - but yeah, that hope is still rather easily lost. Hope you like this! Please review! 3

A/N 2: Oh yes, after seeing **i believe in zelly'**s review, I wanted to add something! I know in this chapter I bring in the fact that Antonio thinks he's broken and cannot be fixed, and yes - Lovino's not going to "fix" Antonio or anything. I agree that it doesn't work that way because people are not things that can just be "fixed". Which is why I'm planning for Lovino, Francis and Gilbert - everyone who cares for Antonio - to just be there to support him, and to help him find his way and recover. :) But thank you for bringing it up!

* * *

Antonio returns back to the office half an hour late.

When he reaches, he flings open the door so hard that the metal knob smashes into the wall, and the noise of fingers rapidly flying across keyboards ceases. Everyone is staring at him, and Antonio awkwardly explains, "Sorry… I had to run an errand…?"

"Well, you better explain this to Mr Honda," Lukas glances up disinterestedly from his computer screen and gives Antonio a deadpan stare before resuming his typing. Antonio nods, and promptly makes his way around the desks towards the door of Kiku's office.

Kiku Honda, the CEO of the publishing company, was a quiet man who seldom came out of his room, and there were even rumors about him having a secret stash of "magazines" under his desk that only Elizabeta seemed to know about. Antonio remembers that Mr Honda is a calm and reasonable person, and he knows that he should be able to explain himself easily. After all, if he excludes the part about him making arrangements with Lovino and only speaks about the part where he helps the lost girl, Mr Honda would probably accept it.

Antonio can see Francis' blond head swivel around, a worried expression on his face. Gilbert immediately stands up from his desk, his eyes already telling Antonio that he has got something to say. "Later," the latter mouths with a small smile, and Gilbert sits back down, looking much more relieved.

"Hello, Mr Honda. I'm really sorry for being late," Antonio says the moment he enters Kiku's office. Kiku is dressed in his typical black suit, and a pair of wire-framed spectacles is perched upon his nose. The CEO has papers scattered all over his table, but when Antonio glances at them the Japanese man hurriedly leans forward and covers a few sheets with his arms. Kiku's poker face remains, however, as he gestures for Antonio to sit down.

"I was heading for lunch, and I saw that a little girl was lost, so I decided to help her find her mother."

"Francis-san and Gilbert-san told me the three of you had a bit of a fight."

"Yeah, well…"

"As your boss, I have the right to know about your welfare, Antonio-san. I want the best for my employees too, and I hope that I will be able to play a part in helping the three of you patch up," Kiku speaks in his typical formal tone, while neatly gathering all the papers on his desk into one pile. Antonio thinks he sees drawings on some of them, but dismisses it as a trick of the light.

"It was just a misunderstanding, really. But I'll apologise to them later! And I think we'll be alright," Antonio reassures his boss, sending him a smile that he hopes will convince Kiku to let him return to his work quickly because hearing that Francis and Gilbert told Kiku about their dispute has sent his heart hammering. Did they tell Kiku about his "problem" too? The last thing Antonio needs is another person watching him like a hawk.

"Alright, I believe you. Francis told me they were teasing you and you got mad, but if there's anything that you need help with, do feel free to let me know."

"Yep, that was it ahaha… And yes, of course, sir. I will definitely talk to you!" Antonio grins, but inside he casts Kiku's words aside. "Let me help you" has just become a phrase to him, words that merely bounce off because nobody can help him. He's just that broken.

Antonio can almost feel the lightness he felt from the earlier exchange with Lovino and Maria completely fading as his sleeves suddenly become heavier. Fortunately, Kiku adds, "But in this company, punctuality is of utmost importance."

_Uh-oh._ Antonio has heard stories of Kiku's "punishments" – Gilbert once got sent to his office for handing in a draft late, and the "punishment" was crouching on the floor on all fours while "staring at the ground as if it was something tempting".

"He's bonkers, I swear," Gilbert told his colleagues once he was out. "But at least he told me that Eliza's been going into his office only to borrow magazines."

"What's that on your palm?" Kiku asks, holding a pen calculatedly between his fingers and eyeing Antonio's left hand.

"This? It's, urm, a number," Antonio opens his palm for Kiku, but the question evokes memories of what happened during lunchtime.

_"By the way, I still have your handkerchief with me," Lovino leans against the information counter, inspecting his nails. "Wanna meet up sometime, since we'll be working together and I need to know if you're really as big as an asswipe as your two friends are?"_

_Antonio watches the way Lovino's cheeks turn a lovely pink, as the other pretends that his fingernails are the most interesting things in the world. At that second, he feels a mixture of emotions – panic, joy, insecurity. Was Lovino asking him out? Was Lovino actually interested in him, the guy with too many problems to list and the ugly scars on his arms and thighs? _

_Antonio remembers the first day he saw Lovino. He remembers that his emotions have been a flat line for days – just a constant and monotonous. Numbness. Empty. Blank. It was like standing behind a glass and watching life pass by, watching everyone happy but not being able to be a part of it. Once upon a time, when the world first began losing its colour, Antonio thought that bringing red from his skin would bring the colour back. Red was a rather bright colour, after all; and red was pain and pain was feeling something. _

_But the skies only got darker to him. _

_Lovino asked him why he was buying so many plasters. No one ever did. All the previous cashiers had only taken the boxes from him and scanned them emotionlessly, not even bothering to enquire about why someone even needed so many band aids. Only Lovino did, and though Antonio knew that they had just met and Lovino probably didn't have a clue about what he was doing behind closed toilet doors, Antonio was glad he asked. Because amidst the mess of feelings that swarmed him the moment Lovino questioned him; amidst the rising panic in his chest, was a small glimmer of hope. Someone asked. Someone asked. Someone asked. _

_Antonio recognizes it, from his years of studying Psychology and from his field experience. It's the hope that everyone still has – the reserves that even the saddest of people still unconsciously call on, because sometimes even those who want to throw themselves off the nearest bridge just really want to feel alive again. Antonio's been trying to crush this hope in him, but somehow, ever since when Lovino's brilliant eyes and soft auburn hair have been caught up in his memory, this hope has gotten a little bit stronger. Someone asked, but the fact that it had been Lovino – vulgar, bashful, __**adorable**__ Lovino only made it better. It gave him a little more faith that perhaps life was still worth living. Was it a crush? He hasn't dated in a long time, but today the voices in his head are quiet and for the first time in forever, he thinks, "Why not?"_

_And this time round, he's not questioning why he ought not to be hurting himself, or why he ought not to get a bigger, sharper blade. He's questioning why he shouldn't take the plunge and accept Lovino's offer – Lovino's laughter is still ringing in his head, and all of a sudden Antonio imagines them together: them going on amusement park rides, them sharing smoothies, them making each other laugh… _

_"H-hey! It's just a question! Do you want to?"_

_Yes. Dios, I want to. Antonio's heart is pounding, and he recalls staring at Lovino's back while trailing behind as Lovino walked with Maria in his hand. He recalls wondering absently that he'd never have a chance with Lovino, followed by why Lovino chose to work in a drugstore, and did he love drawing? What did he normally draw? Did he paint too? What was he passionate about?_

_Maybe he should give it a try. Give them a shot. _

_"For lunch? Sure! Can I have your number?" Antonio surprises himself and Lovino by exclaiming rather cheerfully, before realizing that he's left his phone at his office._

_Lovino's eyes widen and for an instant Antonio sees something like joyful disbelief and vows to remember the look in Lovino's eyes. The auburn-haired man huffs in exasperation, before giving Antonio the smirk that never fails to make his heart skip a beat. "I would call you a dumb bastard but it seems I've left mine at the drugstore too. Ha ha." Patting both his back pockets, Lovino shrugs and pulls out a pen. _

_"Give me your palm," he demands, and the Spaniard instantly obeys. Lovino's fingers are thinner and fairer than Antonio's, and their hands come into contact when Lovino writes out his phone number carefully on his palm. _

_Lovino's skin is warm, but soon Antonio feels his neck warming up as well when the other man clicks his tongue in irritation at how the numbers keep scrunching up and holds his hand to steady his writing. _

_"I'll send you a text," Antonio confirms._

_"You better," Lovino mutters, before declaring that he has to return to work. _

_Antonio stands there for a few seconds after Lovino has left, and for once he forgets about the pack of blades in his pocket._

"And whose number is that?" Kiku's second question jolts Antonio out of his reverie and instead makes him wonder why his boss is so interested in his love life in the first place.

"Just someone I met at the shopping mall. And if you excuse me, Mr Honda, but I must get back to work-"

"Work can wait, Antonio-san. But right now you must help give me inspiration." Kiku has an uncharacteristic glint in his eye, and he takes out a notepad from under his desk. "Was it a girl? I want to hear all the details."

Antonio's getting more and more weirded out by Kiku's change in behavior, and he knows that it's his turn to experience Mr Honda's strange "punishments".

"It was a guy."

"I'm sure this guy isn't just someone you met at the shopping mall, then."

Antonio sighs, before launching into a summary of What Happened During Lunch and when Kiku asks him how Lovino is like, Antonio throws all of the work he has left to do out of the window.

"He's good with children. And I think he loves art! He's a bit vulgar though, and he seems like the kind of person who wouldn't be open to affection initially haha… But I really love his eyes. I know we don't know each other very well yet, but they just carry so much emotion in them."

Emotions. Antonio remembers having so much more other than the hole in his chest. But it's better today. He can _feel_ it, because he's sure he's not going to cut tonight. Maybe he'll even put it down on his calendar – _today, Lovino asked me out_ – because it's a happy thing and deep down Antonio still wants to be happy.

Kiku nods thoughtfully, scribbling down on his paper before telling Antonio that he's free to go. Antonio stands up, but before he leaves, Kiku passes a package to him.

"Pass this to Elizabeta," he says. "Tell her it's the new issue."

When Antonio's finally back at his desk again, Gilbert walks over and places a sandwich in front of him. Antonio looks up, and he recognizes the guilty look on his friend's face from high school, when Gilbert copied his assignments without him knowing. The sandwich is a peace offering and Antonio inspects it to find extra tomatoes, as usual.

"I'm sorry, Toni," Gilbert apologises, looking Antonio sincerely in the eye. "I know it's hard for you and I shouldn't have yelled. We won't force you to go anymore."

"It's okay, Gil. I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have snapped back." Antonio smiles, and pats Gilbert on the shoulder. "The both of you were just trying to help, and yeah, I promise to try harder. Thank you for always being there for me."

Antonio means it, because it occurs to him how much Francis and Gilbert have done for him, and if there's anything he can repay them back it would be trying even harder to get better.

"I promise I'll try harder."

"That's great. And, y'know…" Gilbert leans in closer so that no one else knows what they are saying. "Listen, Toni, I don't completely understand what you're going through but I just want to let you know that Franny and I are here for you. Always. You can push us away all you want, but we're not going to stop being there for you. Because we're your awesome friends, and friends stick together."

Antonio turns back to look at Francis, who nods at him encouragingly and at that moment, he doesn't feel alone.

No; at that moment, he can see how much his friends care and maybe, just maybe, they'll be there to walk him through everything. Maybe he really can get better. Maybe one day he'd forget Emma, and things might really work out with Lovino. Maybe one day he'd be happy.

And maybe the only thing he's truly got is a whole bunch of maybes, but when Antonio smiles back at his friends he really believes.


	10. Chapter 10

Hello everyone! I am soooo sorry for not updating. :( I've been so busy and I wanted to write longer chapters but it seems that I can only write about 2000 words or lesser. I know some of y'all are wondering why every chapter is so short, and it's because I don't have a lot of time to just sit down and write, but I'd still like to continue nevertheless!

This chapter's a rather fluffy one, and I hope it lives up to your expectations! Please review! 3

* * *

Antonio texts Lovino when he reaches home.

It's 11 pm and he's lying in bed, head propped up against soft pillows and eyes scanning the screen of his hand phone. He reaches over to the bedside table and flicks on the lamp, giving the two photo frames on the table a glance. One of them contains a photo of him, Francis and Gilbert during college. The other is empty.

He doesn't really know what to say, and at first he types out a rather long message before shaking his head and deleting everything.

"Hello, this is Antonio! :D The guy you gave your number to! You told me to text you, so here I am!" Too long. Delete.

"Hey, it's Antonio! You told me to text you back today. J" Too formal. Nah.

Antonio doesn't know why he's fretting so much over a simple message, but in the end, he settles for a simple "Hola, Lovi! :D" because he thinks it will be obvious.

He waits for a while, debating with himself whether he should sleep or stay up for Lovino's reply. After all, it's already 11 pm and the Italian just might be an early sleeper. But just when Antonio is getting ready to put his phone away and pull up his blankets, he feels a vibration.

_Lovino: About time, bastard._

Antonio can't stop himself from grinning, and he excitedly sits up much straighter. Typing back a "you awake?", he hits the send button and impatiently waits.

_Lovino: No, I'm fucking sleepwalking. _

_Lovino: My brother and the potato bastard are going at it. Argh. I can't sleep. _

Antonio chuckles because he can imagine Lovino slumped against his pillows too, frowning and desperately curling under the covers to shut out the noise next door.

_Antonio: You mean Ludwig? He's a nice guy! :D_

_Lovino: Nice guy my ass. I shouldn't have allowed him to stay over. Anyway, what are you doing up so late? Don't you have work tomorrow_

_Antonio: I'm texting you! And it's okay, my boss is pretty chill ^^ _

_Lovino: Oh. Anyway, I'm bored. Entertain me._

_Antonio: I'm not good at jokes though. __L_

Lovino replies that he doesn't really care much about jokes, so Antonio tells him about work. He types the whole story of Kiku's weird punishments, and of Gilbert's constant attempts to woo Elizabeta. He sends texts about the letters he has received, and how he's kind of like the go-to person for advice in the office.

Lovino comments that it makes him sound really mature, but then mentions that he was being sarcastic when he brings up Antonio's cluelessness with Maria that afternoon. In return, Lovino tells Antonio about himself too. He tells Antonio about how he and Feliciano moved from Italy to start a new life, and how he misses their house in Florence.

_Lovino: You should see that house one day. Fucking beautiful. _

Antonio wonders if Lovino is hinting that he might bring him along back to Italy one day. Before he can get his hopes up, he dismisses those thoughts.

Lovino tells Antonio that he and Feli are now living in a rather small apartment, with an even smaller room that Feli calls their "creative space" for them to paint and draw.

_Antonio: You make art? :O_

_Lovino: Yeah. But not that much, I guess._

_Antonio: What do you paint? _

It's as if that questions ignites something in Lovino, because the next thing he knows Antonio is getting much longer messages explaining about why painting people is so much better than painting landscapes. _"Because you can see a damn river so many times, but you might only come across a person once."_

He discovers, to his fascination, that Lovino enjoys calm afternoons spent people-watching and making sketches of fleeting strangers. And he shares with Lovino that one of the things that he enjoys about being a columnist is being able to know a small part of so many people's lives.

_Antonio: It's surreal, isn't it? That you are just a small part in this world. _

_Lovino: Yeah. _

For a second, Antonio's smile falters and his grip on his phone slackens because the phrase is familiar. It's something that the voice in his head always speaks about – about how he's just an unimportant, insignificant, negligible part of the universe and no one would even notice if he was gone.

He recalls crossing the road on the way home just now. As usual, he had to cross the bridge – the one overlooking the road; the one where he'd normally stand looking down at the cars whizzing past and toy with the idea of falling down in the path of one. The sun was setting, and for once he stepped forward to the railings and peered over, gripping the safety bar. The headlights of vehicles on their way home – probably to a warm family awaiting them or a nice evening relaxing in front of the television – shone, and Antonio watched them disappear under the bridge one by one. He opened his palms, and saw Lovino's number, then already slightly smudged.

_"Wanna meet up sometime?" _

Maybe he had something to look forward to as well.

_Lovino: Hello? You still there?_

_Antonio: Sorry I kinda zoned out ahahaha_

_Lovino: … I'm tired. _

_Antonio: Buenas noches then! :D See you soon! _

_Lovino: Night_

Antonio notices that it is already past midnight.

* * *

Tuesday is Lovino's day off, so they decide that the following Tuesday will be their first day at the orphanage.

Kiku has granted Antonio half the day off, so long as he finishes his work before he leaves. Spurred on by the thought of seeing the feisty Italian again, Antonio works through his letters at the same speed that Gilbert uses when he plays video games, and his friends send him worried glances whenever he slams another finished letter onto the desk.

"Hey, Antonio, what's gotten into you today?" Gilbert asks.

Antonio raises his head from his computer screen to reply, when Elizabeta cuts him off.

"Some friend you are, Gil! Don't you know our Tonio is going on a date?"

The excited glint in Elizabeta's eyes scare Antonio, who laughs nervously and answers with a meek "it's not really a date, Eliza…"

"Mon cher, you are seeing someone and you didn't tell us?" At the sound of Francis' voice, Antonio's heart sinks. Elizabeta is known for being an avid lover of romance (and according to some sources, especially when it involves two males), but Francis – he's the company's resident romantic.

Antonio prepares himself for another one of Francis' "Lectures on Love", but then Yao, Kiku's secretary, hurries over and whacks the Frenchman on the head with the roll of paper he's holding.

"Quit talking and get back to work!"

The roll of paper is then pointed at Antonio threateningly, and Yao warns him in a voice that should not belong to someone who's willing to die fighting over dim sum vouchers. "And you, Carriedo. No work, no date!"

And then the Chinese man rushes off, leaving Antonio embarrassed amongst his sniggering colleagues.

Time flies, and soon Antonio has arrived in front of the orphanage. The pastel-colored building is plain but recently painted, and a small yard surrounds the orphanage. Antonio is standing in front of a wooden gate that when he looks closely at is covered in scratches that appear to be the names of the children that live inside, and the thought of them carving their initials attentively makes him smile. A quaint cobblestone path leads to the entrance, and Antonio approaches the door after pushing the little gate open.

He presses the doorbell before standing on the porch and adjusting his hair while looking at his reflection in the window. After all, he doesn't know who's in charge and he ought to make a good first impression. Suddenly, there is a face on the other side of the window and Antonio nearly falls down the porch in surprise. The Spaniard only manages to catch a glimpse of the large flower in the person's hair before the main door is opened and a hand is thrust into his face.

It's a little boy in a baggy t-shirt, and Antonio feels his hand being grabbed and shaken energetically.

"Welcome to The House!" the boy exclaims excitedly. For a moment, the purple flower in his jet-black hair slips and he roughly pushes it back up. "You must be Anto-"

"Michael, how many times have I told you not to open the door for strangers? That's my job, not yours – oh hello, you must be Antonio." A lady joins Michael at the door, smiling apologetically at their visitor. She's clad in a peach blouse and a long skirt, and her long hair has also been accessorized with a pink flower. From her facial features, Antonio guesses that she's Asian and waves back cheerfully.

The lady shakes his hand and laughs, "I apologise for the rather abrupt introduction. Michael always loves it when people come. Anyway, I'm Xiao Mei, and I'm in charge of the orphanage. Come on in, your friend's already here."

The first thing that Antonio sees when they enter the main room is Lovino. The second thing that he notices is that there are four kids trying to crawl onto Lovino's lap, each attempting to put a flower crown onto his auburn hair.

"Argh, get off me you little sh- Erm, sheep! That's right, you are all cute little sheep. Happy? Now, get off my lap!"

"But I don't wanna be a sheep! I want Lovi to wear my crown!"

"Me too! Me too!"

The sight is both hilarious and endearing, and when Michael grabs his hand again and flashes him a toothy grin, Antonio finds that there's not a single bit of him that regrets coming.


	11. Chapter 11

Hello everyone! I'm sooo sorry for the long hiatus! But yes, I'm back with Chapter 11! This one features Antonio and Lovino going on their Awkward!(First)Date! I will definitely feature the kids more in the later chapters, but I really wanted to get the plot moving again so yeah. Thank you for reading! And do leave a review because those always make my day 3

* * *

Ten minutes and a lot of hustling later, Xiao Mei finally manages to formally introduce Antonio to the children. She calls him out after briefing him on the proper etiquette he has to obey while helping out, and presents him to his young audience.

"Alright everyone! This is Antonio, our second volunteer! He's Lovino's friend-"

"No!" A cry erupts from the back of the room.

"Lovi's our friend!"

Antonio turns in the direction of the voice, and notices that the same four kids have their limbs sprawled all over Lovino. One of them, a girl with her chubby cheeks framed by a bob, throws her arms around Lovino's waist protectively and glares at Antonio.

"Hey, Antonio's nice!" Michael, who's sitting right in front of the entire group of kids, retorts and glances over at Xiao Mei for support. But before even waiting for her reply, he diverts his attention back to Antonio, teal eyes sparkling with eagerness.

"Well yes, I'm not sure if I'm nice but ah, people have told me that I am, so…"

* * *

It's only when they are collecting the crayons from the kids' coloring session that Antonio gets the chance to talk to Lovino again.

"Hey," he whispers to Lovino, passing a box of crayons to him for shelving.

The other man pauses and eyes him for a moment, placing the box of back onto the shelf with a little too much force.

"What you said just now was utter crap."

"Huh? What did I say?"

Antonio's mind immediately flashes to the start of his entire visit. _What did he do first? Okay, he stepped into the orphanage, he introduced himself… What did he do wrong? What was it?_

Before he knows it, he's clutching his arm and digging his fingernails into his skin. The other box in his hands tumbles to the floor, littering the ground with crayons. It takes both Antonio and Lovino a few seconds to take in the mess on the floor, and when Antonio finally snaps out of his reverie he hastily bends over.

"I'm sorry! I'm _so_ sorry…" Apology after apology escapes his lips as he scoops up the crayons, shoving them back into the box.

"Wait, stop." Lovino grabs the bright pink crayon Antonio's holding. "Stop apologizing, it was an accident. It was, well, partially my fault as well. I probably shouldn't have been so direct… S-sorry."

Antonio blinks, but Lovino is already standing up and slipping the last crayons into the box.

"It's already 6. Are we going to go for dinner, or are you just going to continue sitting there?"

That makes Antonio react, because he's already got everything planned out – the restaurant he's going to take Lovino to, the path they're going to take after dinner, the things he's going to say to him when their night is over.

"Of course!" He hurries to his feet and flashes a grin at Lovino, who snorts but not before letting him have a glimpse of a smile.

They are getting ready to leave the orphanage, when Xiao Mei suddenly calls for Antonio.

"Hey, two of your friends left you this." Xiao Mei passes a paper bag to him. "For uh, your date later."

Antonio peers into the bag, fishing a note out.

_"'Sup, Toni! Your awesome friends decided to help you out, because we didn't want you to screw your night up with your horrible fashion sense. Remember to thank us, and remember – stay protected! ;)"_

Antonio feels his heart fill with dread, as he reaches further into the bag and pulls out a familiar pair of jeans. It's the pair that Francis had insisted he buy because "it made his ass look delicious", but he had declined thinking that it might make the scars on his thighs stand out. He knew for sure that tight pants always revealed a bit of the scars, especially those that were thick and had yet to recover. This was the reason why the main thing he looked out for when buying clothes was whether the lesions on his skin showed through the fabric. He'd even brush his hand down his thighs to make sure that no one would be able to feel the scars if they accidentally touched him – he was that afraid, because secrets were meant to be kept.

_Only_, he thought, as he watched Lovino waiting at the gate of the orphanage, gazing up at the night sky. _Secrets couldn't be kept forever._

* * *

"What took you so long?" Lovino asks when Antonio finally joins him and leads him towards his car.

"Xiao Mei gave me something that my friends wanted me to have," Antonio explains with a shrug, and Lovino tugs the paper bag open.

"A pair of… Jeans? Why would they give them to you?"

"Ah, they're skinny jeans. My friends told me I ought to wear them to impress you, but they're a little bit too tight for me." Antonio smiles apologetically, opening the passenger door for Lovino and gesturing for him to enter.

"Hey, there's no need to be so damn gentlemanly!" Lovino hisses back, but under the light of the streetlamps, Antonio can see that the tips of his ears have turned a healthy shade of red. He closes the door with a laugh, before getting into the car and starting the engine.

"So… Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise, Lovi!"

"Well, your surprise better be good, because I'm hungry as fuck."

Antonio chuckles, driving away from the orphanage. He notices that the paper bag is on Lovino's lap, and Lovino pulls the note out from within.

"God, it's the potato bastard's brother isn't it? And that asshole who dirtied my shirt?"

"Yes, it's _Gilbert_ and _Francis_," Antonio corrects, turning towards Lovino's disgusted face for a moment.

"Tch. 'Stay protected', huh? We'll see how well you fare tonight first."

Lovino smirks the same smirk that had done strange things to Antonio's heart rate the first time they met, and suddenly Antonio is unsure if he's going to be good enough.

They encounter a red light, and Lovino's busy staring out of the window so Antonio seizes the chance to observe the man beside him.

_What did Lovino see in him to even be the slightest bit interested?_ Lovino, who had such bold amber eyes that spoke of determination, and such soft hair that always made Antonio wonder what it would be like to run his fingers through. Lovino, with the artist fingers and the sharp tongue – things that hinted of the fiery passion he had within, and Antonio was more than willing to be consumed.

What did Lovino see in him, then? He was just someone with no fire in his heart – someone who found it hard to get out of bed on some days and someone who had too many issues.

Lovino shifts, and Antonio finds his gaze landing on the other's lips. He ponders idly over how they would taste, and whether he would even get a chance to try when Lovino flicks him on the forehead.

"Stop staring at me!"

"Stop being so attractive." The words slip out from Antonio's lips unexpectedly, and there's an awkward silence between the both of them before Lovino speaks.

"The… The fuck? Stop being so creepy!"

"I would, but it's the truth!"

"Stop being so cheesy."

"Stop being so in denial."

"Stop-"

A horn blares from behind them, and Antonio notices that the traffic light has turned green.

"Well, I won," Lovino declares smugly. "I had the final say."

"But you only said one word! I was the one with the last full sentence." Antonio pouts, drawing an eye roll on Lovino's side.

"Bullshit. It doesn't work that way, and now you have to do a forfeit. Ha!"

"Ah, and how would you like to _punish_ me?" Antonio knows he's walking on thin ice, but despite his racing heart he gives Lovino a wink.

Apparently it worked, because Lovino blushes and looks away, muttering to himself about bastards and perverts.

Antonio soon sees the restaurant coming into view, and loudly announces, "Here we are!"

"Are you fucking serious? A _French_ restaurant?"


	12. Chapter 12

Hello everyone! I am back with Chapter 12! This one is a 100% fluffy chapter, so I really hope you guys will like it! D: I was really insecure while writing this one because I don't know how many people would want 1000+ words of my attempt at fluff. :( I do feel that loads of the stuff I write can be awkward at times and that makes me panic a little! Either way, I hope you enjoy this chapter! I will be doing my very best to finish this story by December! Thank you all so much for reading, and I wish you all a great week ahead. 3 Please drop a review if you like my story! It'd mean a lot! :D

* * *

Lovino is still sulking by the time Antonio pulls up into the parking lot.

"Come on, I heard the food's great!" Antonio attempts to placate the other man, who's muttering non-stop about the inferiority of French cuisine to Italian food.

Lovino takes one long stare at the weakly smiling Spaniard, before shaking his head and pushing the car door open. "They better have good wine."

* * *

A friendly waiter ushers them in, and leads them to their table after Antonio gives him his name. Their seats are located at the back of the restaurant, away from the chatter of the rest of the diners. Lovino smugly congratulates himself for getting a date who knows how to pick tables, but when Antonio asks him if the seats are alright, he just grunts.

A candelabrum has already been placed onto the centre of the table, and the waiter lights the candles with ease.

"Are the lights dim enough?" he asks Antonio, gesturing to the lights above. The latter nods and thanks him, and he leaves them to mull over the menu.

"Are you alright with a candlelit dinner? I really didn't know if it would be your kind of thing but…" Antonio pulls out Lovino's chair and flashes him a sheepish smile.

Lovino bats his hand off the chair.

"It's fucking perfect. Stop worrying."

Antonio's eyes light up, but before he has the chance to say anything, Lovino shoves the menu at him. He chuckles and flips open the menu, but does not make it a few pages in before he decides to sneak a peak at Lovino. The second time since they first met at the drugstore, he finds himself immediately staring into fiery amber. Realising that Lovino was trying to catch a glance at him too, Antonio blushes lightly, while Lovino just quickly covers his face with the large menu.

They leaf through the pages before deciding on the food and gesturing for the nearest waiter. A waitress heads towards them this time, and Antonio notices that Lovino is flashing one of his rare smiles at her.

His smile is one that carries more than a hint of flirtatiousness, and Antonio doesn't even hear their orders being rattled off by Lovino. He knows the waitress is beautiful, sure, with a cute smile and an attractive laugh – was Lovino interested in her?

Suddenly, Lovino clears his throat loudly and Antonio turns his head to see that he has become victim to one of Lovino's glares again. He watches as Lovino gestures to the waitress, and upon getting the cue, nods to confirm his order.

As the waitress leaves their table, Lovino diverts his attention back to Antonio. "What happened? You were staring at her really weirdly."

"Ah, do you think she's cute?"

Lovino frowns and stares deep into Antonio's eyes, as if searching for something. Antonio finds himself shifting forwards slightly as well, just so he can see Lovino's gorgeous amber eyes better.

"You are interested in her."

"What? No! I thought _you_ were interested in her."

"Goddammit, Antonio. I didn't agree to drag my ass on a date with you just so I could meet pretty waitresses. And," Lovino takes a sip of his water and averts his eyes. "I'd say you're doing alright so far."

Swallowing down a sigh of relief, Antonio gently nudges Lovino's foot with his. "Thank you, Lovi. You're doing more than fine too."

When their food arrives, Lovino takes a bite of his _magret de canard_ and realizes that maybe French food wasn't so bad after all. Of course, it might have been a rather biased revelation of his, influenced by the company he had for the night.

"So," Antonio begins. "Tell me about Florence."

"It's fucking beautiful. We lived away from the tourist-y areas though – dumb tourists and all their photo snapping annoy me sometimes."

Antonio feels guilty because he may or may not be one of those "dumb tourists" whenever he travels.

"Anyway. Feliciano and I, we lived with our _nonno_. We grew up in Rome with our parents, but then went to Florence to study art and decided to stay there after that."

"Why did you move here then?" Antonio asks, swirling his wine thoughtfully.

Lovino tries not to blush at the way Antonio's bright green eyes are twinkling with genuine interest, instead focusing on the reason behind him leaving Florence.

"Feli got a job here. As a sculptor."

"How about you? Why did you come along? I mean, I wouldn't want you to not have come along with your brother, because then we wouldn't have met."

Antonio is resting his chin on his hand and smiling affectionately, and Lovino mentally adds that combination to the list of things that might possibly lead to him getting a future heart attack.

"I… I wouldn't want him screwing around anyway. Someone had to keep him in check, and _nonno_ wanted us to go together. When Feli gave up his job to open a restaurant with the potato bastard, _nonno_ wasn't too happy but agreed anyway."

"Hmm, don't you do art too?"

"Yes, but I never did make a career out of it. Unlike my brother. I've always wanted to win an art competition, at least, but it never happened. Guess I'm stuck forever at the drugstore, huh?"

"I'm not an artist myself but… Judging from what you said that night when we were texting, I do feel you'd make a great artist."

"Really?" Lovino sounds bitter.

"Really. Art is about passion, isn't it? Putting down your emotions onto canvas. Expressing yourself and uh, I feel you do have a lot of emotions to express, Lovi. It's like…" Antonio fumbles for the right words, "I feel you have this fire within you, and _Dios Mío_, the first time I saw you, I could already tell."

The moment the words leave his lips, Antonio realizes that he means every single one of them. He continues, "I remember you were sketching something under the counter."

At the mention of his sketch, Lovino groans in embarrassment. "I have already explained it! I do shit on a whim and later regret it-"

Antonio chuckles. "Well, you did make art on a whim. And I think that is what a true artist would do! Breathe and make art."

"My art is shitty."

"I doubt that's the truth. You should show me your art one day!"

Lovino puts his fork down. "We'll see about that. I was actually working on a painting for this art c-competition – argh never mind it doesn't matter."

"No!" Antonio gasps. "It matters!"

"No, it's just a stupid competition. I'm not even sure if I can complete the painting in time anyway. Why the heck are you so interested anyway? You haven't even told me about yourself yet."

Antonio fidgets, and for a moment Lovino thinks he looks uncomfortable.

"What do you want to know?"

"You. Your favourite colour, your hobby, your favourite kind of people to hang out with. Okay, maybe not the last one. I don't want to hear about your cronies."

Antonio playfully prods Lovino with his foot again, saying, "And you said I was the cheesy one."

"Fuck you." But Lovino is smiling. It's not a big smile, but his lips are curled in a way that makes him look rather handsome, and at that moment Antonio believes that he can spend an entire lifetime gazing at that smile.

"I like red. And well, I don't really have a specific hobby – I love doing loads of things! But ah, I do love dancing and playing the guitar. As for the last one…"

"I said to ignore the last one, dammit!"

"I love hanging out with cute Italians."

"You can have my brother then. I heard he's much _cuter_ than I am."

Antonio laughs again, "I'm not done yet. I only love hanging out with a certain particularly attractive one by the name of Lovino Vargas."

Lovino's hand is resting on the table, and Antonio covers it with his, reveling in the way Lovino's muscles tense before relaxing into his touch.

"Is this okay?" The Spaniard looks up at the other man, whose ears are rapidly turning pinkish. Lovino nods shyly.

* * *

The rest of the evening is spent on Antonio telling Lovino about his childhood in Spain, and how he eventually picked up Psychology but chose to switch jobs for a change. He did leave the part out about Emma though; such things were not meant to be brought up during first dates. Lovino turned out to be a brilliant listener, albeit the occasional sarcastic comment about how Antonio should not have chosen Francis and Gilbert to be his "lifelong buddies" and how disgusting a name like "Bad Friends Trio" was for a high school rock band.

They finally exit the restaurant, and Antonio volunteers to fetch Lovino home. He stops the car a short distance away from Lovino's apartment, just so he can walk him to his door, and for a while they walk side-by-side in comfortable silence.

"So… How did I do?" Antonio finally asks when they are both in the elevator.

"Not bad." Lovino tries to shrug it off, but Antonio can tell he's trying not to smile.

"It was amazing getting to spend time with you." Antonio tells Lovino honestly, joining the other in leaning against the wall of the elevator. They are both standing very close, and Antonio inches his hand over slowly, brushing his pinky across Lovino's fingers. He is surprised when Lovino hesitantly reaches over and touches his palm, and before he knows it they are holding hands.

Antonio feels his brain short-circuit, and suddenly everything feels _much much much _hotter and his heart feels like it's about to fall out of his chest. He realizes he's at the corner of the elevator when Lovino, blush evenly spread across his cheeks, leans in. The world becomes nothing but _Lovino_ at that very instance, and Antonio can smell his cologne and count the tiny spread of freckles across his nose. Lovino's eyelashes are fluttering, and Antonio finds himself staring at the other's lips once more. He feels himself leaning forwards as well, closing the distance between them, but then suddenly Lovino's voice is at his ear and he's saying,

"Got you. I don't give kisses right after the first date."

The elevator door opens, and Antonio stands stunned as Lovino saunters out smugly.

"I'm picking the venue next time. Ciao." Lovino says and gives a hasty wave before walking off.

* * *

When Antonio returns to his car, there is a spring in his step.

* * *

That's all for this time! Please review 3


	13. Chapter 13

Hello everyone! I'm back with the 13th chapter hehe ^^ This chapter, well, is a much much angstier one. There is a rather graphic scene after the second break, so please please please don't read it if you're easily triggered!

But anyway, things are about to get down from this chapter onwards. :) Yet, thank you all so much for reading my story (or at least my attempt at a story) and for giving me all your support! Do leave a review if you have anything to say. Enjoy this chapter, and please take care of yourselves! Have a great week ahead!

P.S. I really ran out of names to give the therapist. I was asking my friend for name suggestions and she suggested my own name, so why not? Plus it really lightened writing this chapter up a bit! A bit about the whole therapy thing - I've actually and very unfortunately needed to see a therapist - but the thing is, not all therapists are "bad". Sure, some might say the wrong things sometimes, but we'll always have those who are willing to help people. The first one I saw wasn't that great I guess, and I ended up feeling worse after certain sessions. But I got a change in therapist and now I am well on the road to recovery! It's never easy to ask for help, but sometimes even something like seeking an adult might get the ball rolling. If any of you are going through a tough time right now, please don't keep silent! My inbox is always open for you 3

P.P.S. 27 Nov is going to be the day that marks my four months of being clean! Hooray for me, I guess? X'D

* * *

Antonio is standing in front of his therapist's office once again. He's alone because Francis and Gilbert aren't free, and of course he hasn't told Lovino. Yet.

The receptionist tells him that his turn is next, and Antonio puts his hand onto the doorknob. Dr Rachel's nameplate on the door glares accusingly at him, and Antonio's mind is swarmed with flashbacks from superficial smiles and sickeningly sweet words. Still, he summons every ounce of courage that he has and reminds himself that he is doing this for Francis and Gilbert.

He pulls the door open.

* * *

Dr Rachel is sitting in that familiar armchair of hers, legs crossed and face warped into the same glassy smile. Once again, she has her clipboard on her lap and the first thing she says to Antonio is-

"Well, Mr Carriedo. Looks like you finally answered my call."

Antonio feels his stomach twist in disgust, but he forces a smile and shrugs.

"Yeah, I guess. Here I am."

A quick look at the clock tells him that he has 59 excruciating minutes left, so he slowly walks over to a chair and lets himself fall onto the soft cushions. Antonio braces himself for the familiar questions – How are you doing? Did you have any suicidal thoughts? Have you tried making a change in the way you live your life?

When she asks him if anything great has happened recently, images of smudged ink on his palm and an almost kiss flood his memory. He smiles at the thought of Lovino's shy yet smug smiles, and it's a mistake because Dr Rachel leaps onto that like a predator finally catching its prey.

"Met someone new?" she asks, eyes sparking in interest. Antonio immediately sends his walls shooting back up and stares back at her in defiance.

"There are some things that I prefer keeping a secret."

"If you want me to help you, you have to tell me everything. You definitely don't want to be wasting your friends' efforts, right? Think about how much hope they have placed on you to get better. Don't disappoint them."

Antonio remembers Gilbert's excited text that morning, all in caps – Toni! Remember to go for your appointment, okay! Do your best ;D – and for that instant he's back at the restaurant toilet again, blade in hands and holding his breath as Gilbert's voice fades out.

"Yeah, I did. Meet someone."

"And have you told her about your cutting?"

"No, I haven't mentioned it. To _him_."

For that instant, there is an awkward silence in the room as Antonio's therapist takes in his words, before scribbling something into her notes.

"You know, you've got to tell him one day."

Lovino would definitely give an eye roll at that sentence, Antonio laughs bitterly to himself.

"So how's the cutting?"

Dr Rachel throws out the question nonchalantly, as if she's checking yet another thing to ask off her list

"Slightly better." Antonio is curt in his reply, but he shifts uncomfortably and leans back further into the sofa. Having to talk about _it_ still felt like he was stepping into somewhere way out of his control, and he had to tread carefully if he didn't want to blow up. It was kind of messed up how he was so deeply addicted to hurting himself that he wanted to keep it under wraps as much as possible, but Antonio already knows that deep down he's a disarray of imperfections and mistakes.

"When was the last time you did it?"

"Two weeks ago."

The therapist nods and frowns, taking down more notes.

"So… "

* * *

When the hour finally ends and Antonio steps out, he feels worse than before.

_"I've fallen."_ That is the only thing on his mind as he walks away; walks away from the therapist's room and from Dr Rachel and from all of his problems that have been forcefully brought to the surface in the past hour. _"I've fallen, I've fallen, I've fallen."_

When the lift does not arrive, he swiftly turns and flings open the door to the staircase with unexpected force. He needs to move – his entire body is buzzing with _something_ that makes his head pound and his wrists throb.

He's on the tenth floor. _Fuck this_, he thinks, and soon he's racing down the steps, his mind getting lighter and lighter by the minute and suddenly, amidst all of the jumbled incoherence inside, he can feel another clear line of thought emerge – _where is the toilet? I need to find the toilet oh my god fuck_ and there's a small part of him that immediately starts calculating the number of floors left to the ground floor. There's got to be a toilet on there; he knows it. There has to be.

As his thighs begin to burn from all the adrenaline, he tries to recall how the session went. But all he can remember is how smiling suddenly became too painful and the room felt too tight, too suffocating. "I can't do this," he vaguely remembers himself saying, facial muscles straining to maintain the polite smile stuck on his face, and fingers clutching the fabric of his pants desperately.

"How do you usually feel when you cut?"

_Emptiness? Relief?_ "I don't know."

"Try to think about it."

He then recalls thinking for a moment, before sighing in frustration, "I don't know. I really don't know! I can't… I can't put it into words."

But really, even he admits that a huge part of him doesn't want to face up to it yet, doesn't want to acknowledge that there is indeed something not quite right with the way he's dealing with _things_.

_There's nothing wrong with me_, he remembers repeating that particular line again and again, as if it was a mantra worth clinging on to. _I'm fine. I'm perfectly fine._ Yet still, there is a tiny voice at the back of his head, the same voice that has egged him on whenever he takes out the blade and presses it to his skin. He has come to know it as The Voice, and it seems that today, it makes its return again.

"Broken," The Voice whispers. "You're broken, and you can never be fixed." It's a mixture of Sadiq's voice and the voices of all the people who have made him feel inadequate, and he doesn't even bother fighting their voices. He allows them to seep into his every vein and every artery like poison, and by the time he reaches the ground floor and dashes for the toilet he already knows where he's going to cut.

It only takes a few seconds for him to slam the cubicle door shut and tug down his pants, revealing crisscrossing scars from previous times of breaking down and falling apart behind closed doors.

Behind closed doors. That's where he has been hiding, and the moment the lock clicks everything becomes even more overwhelming, he feels everything at once. Everything. _Too much. _

There is a clear spot near the side of his thigh, and he marks it by quickly taking out and placing the blade there. The unmarred skin looks twistedly tantalizing and he lets his thirst for destruction take control, pulling the blade across – slowly at first, relishing in the initial pinpricks of pain while dragging the metal, and then for a final touch, presses down hard and tugs in one swift motion. The slight indentation he has made gradually fills with blood, and the sight of blood makes something snap in him. It always does; the dark red ever beckoning.

He presses the blade to the cut again, wincing as the flash of pain jolts his body for an instant before pushing down and pulling. _Deeper_.

The flesh is gaping a little, but he decides that it's not enough. And unlike other times, he also decides that he's going to make it enough.

So he presses and pulls three more times until a thick drop of blood starts to trickle down his thigh. Luckily, he manages to stop it with toilet paper in time; and for a moment he simply sits there with the tissue against the single cut he has made, watching in morbid fascination as the fiber soaks up the blood and scarlet red stains pure white.

Until the voice in his head returns again, more vicious and biting than ever.

"Broken, broken, broken," it chants insistently, and the next thing he knows he has made another cut, as deep as the first.

"I'm not broken," his inner voice hypocritically speaks, as if it did not play any part in his now-bleeding wounds. Sometimes it feels as though there is a war waging within him, a war of him against himself. But at times, it also feels as though he is in cahoots with his demons, for he has come to enjoy the pain. No matter what, the chaos inside is always too much to bear.

As he finishes placing the plasters over his cuts, he feels the relief coming in again. It's as though he has just opened a dam and the calmness washes over him like fresh water, dousing the wreckage left behind by yet another internal battle. The only thing left is pure numbness, a shadow of the rush of emotions he felt. But has he won, or has he lost?

He doesn't know.


	14. Chapter 14

Hello everyone! I'm on a roll gosh - here's Chapter 14! Thank you all so much for staying with me, I hope you like this chapter 3

_Also, I just wanted to clarify something mentioned by user Zonnenkreeger in the reviews section! This is something that our fandom might have heard of before, so I just thought it'd be great to mention things here. Firstly, thank you for leaving a review! Reviews motivate me to write more, and your review was actually the first that I received after uploaded Chapter 13, my latest chapter before this one. :) (Thank you sooo much to everyone else who reviewed too 3)_

_Secondly, I do respect that you think Spamano to be paedophilic - it is an opinion that some people in the fandom do share, and I understand that you have your own opinion too. However, I just wanted to say that I, personally, feel that Hetalia's characters are after all countries and age is rather ambiguous at times, in the sense that one character can grow to be the same age as another in a certain period of time. I understand that you might see Romano as being once a child under Spain's care, but I want to bring up the point that that in present day, they are both adults. Do remember that Roma did kind of accept Spain's proposal - albeit with three meals and naps per day! x'D So yes, this is my perspective, and in my story both of them are adults. I am not writing a story with anyone f**king anyone (I wish my smut skills were great but nah), and neither do I support paedophilia. _

_I am absolutely alright if you still feel that my opinion is wrong, but I hope you will respect my opinion as I am respecting yours. Lastly, thank you once again for reading my fic (I saw that you reviewed at Chapter 10, so I'm assuming you read 10 chapters of my story and that makes me really honoured) and taking the time to leave a review! :)_

Anyway! This chapter is when Lovino finds out about Antonio's past. Hope you all enjoy reading!

* * *

Lovino's waiting at the bottom of Antonio's apartment, phone to his ears and eyes trained onto Antonio's window. In the night, his bedroom light stands out especially bright, accentuated by the fact that he is late for their supposed second date.

The dial tone is a constant ringing in Lovino's ear, as he taps his foot impatiently and decides whether he should march upstairs to confirm whether Antonio is actually at home or he has actually somehow forgotten to switch off his bedroom lights before going out.

They were supposed to meet outside Antonio's apartment, but fifteen minutes of not seeing his perky Spaniard made Lovino begin to worry for Antonio – and worse, whether the latter had decided that he was no longer interested in dating him.

That wouldn't be the first time someone left him, of course.

Lovino consciously recalls the friends who, for some reason, simply decided that he wasn't good enough for them and left to join other people. He even remembers walking into kindergarten with Feliciano's small hand in his, marveling at the fact that they were going to be part of the large group of kids running around the building. He'd been excited, but bubbly and likeable Feliciano got all the friends. The quieter one of the brothers, Lovino was more reserved and to his classmates, "strange and anti-social".

There was this boy, though. Lovino can't remember his name, but he knows that someone did bother talking to him and even made efforts to get to know him. Yet, just as Lovino expected his luck would be, the boy moved away and left behind only a blurry memory of blond hair and vague dreams of living amongst the stars.

But heck, Lovino isn't going to go through another one of his existential crises again – somewhere along the way he already decided to be satisfied with all that he has. With that thought, he makes the decision to pay Antonio a visit and stuffs his phone back into his pocket.

* * *

_The dumb bastard finally picks up his phone_, Lovino scoffs to himself as the dial tone finally changes into the strangely soft voice of Antonio.

_"Lovi?"_

"I'm outside your apartment. Open up."

_"Ah, give me a moment…"_

Ten minutes later, the front door finally pulls open to reveal a very tired-looking Spaniard. Lovino is shocked by how pallid his face is, and how the smile he is wearing doesn't even carry its usual cheery warmth.

"You look like shit."

Antonio has the gall to chuckle, but he tugs on the sleeves of his sweater nervously. Lovino isn't convinced, so he declares that he wants to enter and Antonio makes way for him.

"I haven't had the time to clear up some things, so my house might be a bit messy."

Lovino lets himself fall back into the loveseat in the middle of Antonio's living room. He notices that there is a kitchenette at one end of the living room and a door at the other, presumably leading to the bedroom. The shutting of the front door makes Lovino turn his attention back to his host, who makes his way to the loveseat and exhales when he leans back against the soft cushions.

"I'm sorry I forgot our meeting today. I… I'm not feeling well," Antonio explains, tilting his head so that he's staring straight into Lovino's eyes.

_Something's not right._ Antonio's eyes are void of that regular spark – the one that always comes accompanied by the crinkles that Lovino secretly finds endearing, and the one that always makes his fingers twitch for a paintbrush and a palette of green.

Yet, Lovino reassures himself that Antonio has probably gotten himself a bad case of the flu, though the latter doesn't appear to be sneezing his nose off and is simply sitting beside him staring into _fucking_ space –

"Antonio."

Antonio hums in response, but his mind still seems to be elsewhere. Lovino clicks his tongue in annoyance and continues, "I really like your wallpaper. It's all… Flowery and shit."

"Me too!"

Lovino smacks Antonio's thigh lightly. "Antonio, look at me. What happened?"

He's about to politely enlighten the other man on the nonexistence of his wallpaper, when Antonio suddenly asks, "Do you really want to be with me?"

"The fuck?"

"I'm serious – I mean, I'm not even that great a guy yet someone like _you_ is interested in me."

"Hey, we haven't even been on our second date yet and you're already getting so insecure. Stop selling yourself short, dammit!"

"I… I have something important to tell you. I don't know if you will leave me after that, but I feel that you need to know this."

Antonio's tone carries more than a hint of anxiety, something that is so uncharacteristic that Lovino, in a moment's impulse, takes the other's hand. He laces their fingers together, feeling Antonio hesitating before adjusting his hand and shifting closer.

"Well, I think it can wait. And you know, this probably sounds cliché as heck but this is the first time someone's fingers have fit j-just right between mine," Lovino says bashfully, squeezing Antonio's fingers and thinking about how he was just wondering about the people who had came and gone in his life. He remembers seeing Antonio at the drugstore and the way he had looked so lost yet so accustomed to what he was doing, and he remembers their shy nudges under the table during their first date.

Antonio laughs, and this time he sounds a bit more alive. "This is going to sound stupid too, but I think that day in the elevator really made me feel like I was falling even more deeply in love with you."

The look on Antonio's face when he had left the elevator that day fades into Lovino's mind, and he remembers blush-stained cheeks and hands clinging to the metal railing in an attempt to prevent himself from quite literally falling.

"Yeah, I think I know that. And fuck yes, I do want to be with you. Don't you dare feed yourself lies that you are not good enough."

Relief flashes across Antonio's face, and all of a sudden he looks a lot more like his usual self. Lovino means every word that he says, and he lets Antonio soak them in; lets Antonio run his thumb over his knuckles and rest his head on his shoulder.

"Bastard, your hair stinks."

Lovino feels the body next to him shake with laughter, and Antonio spews out a soft "I haven't showered at all today."

The Italian calls him a lazy ass, and he manages a tired pout before adjusting his position and laying his head on Lovino's lap.

"Do you normally allow this on second dates?" Antonio mutters, and Lovino is glad that Antonio can't see that his cheeks have turned pink.

"Shut up and get some rest."

Antonio begins to feel his eyelids get heavier, but he feels fingers running through his hair and knows that Lovino has made an exception this time.

* * *

One hour later, his eyelids flutter open and the walls of his living room fade back into his field of vision again. He takes a moment to register that he still has his head on Lovino's lap and that his right leg is cramping, before he cranes his neck to see that Lovino himself is snoring lightly. The other man has his head lolled back against the back of the sofa, and under the forgotten lights Antonio sees a sliver of drool from Lovino's lips staining the fabric.

For some strange reason or another, the headache he had been having before is gone and even though a glance to the clock on the wall reveals that it is merely eleven o'clock, Antonio feels like a day has passed. He surreptitiously pushes up his right sleeve and checks to make sure that his plasters are still on. It has become somewhat of a habit – him indulging his inner paranoia of his wounds reopening and soaking blood through his shirt.

He feels the familiar pang of guilt streaking through his chest, yet he quickly pulls his sleeve back down as he feels Lovino stir.

"Good morning, Lovi." Antonio smiles and proceeds to get off, reaching out to massage his numb leg. He watches as Lovino opens his eyes and wrinkles his nose, staring at the clock and trying to decipher the numbers with his sleep-ridden brain.

"It's not morning yet," he say simply, before giving a loud yawn and haughtily wiping the drool off his lips. Amber eyes take a few seconds to focus, and suddenly they brighten with the remembrance of their conversation just now.

Antonio takes a deep breath.

"I… Have something to tell you. I went to see a therapist today."

Lovino frowns, but he doesn't say anything after making known the fact that he's listening. Antonio takes that as a cue to continue, so he inhales deeply again to remind himself that his lungs are still functioning and that the tightness in his chest is nothing but a moment's anxiety.

"So, urm. Why did you have to see a therapist?"

"Because Gil and Francis told me to. Well, I have been going through some things lately, and I just kind of needed some form of support."

Lovino's eyes immediately clouds with worry, and Antonio sees him pause - he's chewing on his lip and Antonio knows from experience that he's thinking of what to say. Thinking of how to be as sensitive as possible, maybe even apologise like how Dr Rachel had when she first heard about his gradual spiral into sadness (and that little part of his psychologist self that never quite left sometimes tells him he may be floating somewhere in the vacuum of depression).

"Why?" That's the first word that slips through Lovino's lips, and it hangs in the end air between them both. All of a sudden, Antonio feels more faraway than what being on the other edge of a sofa is supposed to feel like. It strikes him that Lovino is so much more different than he is - he can wear short-sleeved shirts, and a ledge to him, for example, is but a small platform jutting out from a building. Antonio? He's stuck with long sleeves and jeans, and sometimes he wonders if he will ever even be able to understand that penknives are meant for cutting paper, not ripping skin.

He doesn't even know how tensed up he's getting, until Lovino reaches over and closes the distance between them. Thin fingers pry his own away from his wrist, and Antonio can feel the desperation in his own eyes when he looks up and takes another look at the man who has kept him going for the past few weeks.

"What's...What's under there?" Lovino asks, gesturing to Antonio's wrist. He's holding his breath, as if he's stilling himself for some kind of ultimate truth. There is anticipation in those amber eyes of his, yet their usual boldness has somehow transformed into fear and maybe a little pain.

"Do you really want to know?" He tries to sound calm, but all that comes out is a choked whisper.

"Yes. I want to. Fuck, I want to know everything. If I want to be with you… I _need_ to know everything. I can't just live normally when you're secretly drowning in your own shit and not telling me. Things don't work that way. R-Relationships don't work that way."

"Okay," Antonio breathes, and extends his arm. Lovino's fingers grasp the fabric of his sleeve, and bit by bit he rolls it up. The Spaniard tries not to cringe as the first of his scars is revealed, curved and ugly, but Lovino remains unfazed and continues pushing on.

Antonio tries to remember when he made those three scars. Three isn't that many, because Antonio knows that there are entire constellations of those on his thighs. Cutting on the arm is always risky, but occasionally he does it anyway. _To indulge himself_, he likes to call it.

The sleeve has been pushed up to his elbow, putting the scars under Lovino's scrutiny. Lovino has a poker face on, but Antonio can see a hurricane of emotions stirring beneath his lashes as he lets his fingers skim across the plasters.

"Is this new?" he asks, and Antonio nods. His mind flashes back to when he came back from therapy, throwing his things onto the ground and heading immediately to the bathroom because the cuts he had made at the office had not been enough.

"Okay." Lovino is the one choking on his words this time. "Damn, I knew it was strange you needed so many plasters."

"Lovi?"

"Fucking hell, no one should buy that many plasters at once…" Lovino brings up one hand to wipe his eyes roughly, laughing bitterly. "Maybe I should have told my manager to take away that discount, you know, maybe make them more expensive so shits like you don't g-get them…"

Lovino turns away.

"I don't know how to react. Fuck. I'm such a horrible person. I couldn't even see that something was wrong. And heck, you even hurt yourself _today_ and I wasn't even there!"

"Lovi, it isn't your fault. You didn't know. I was the one who failed to let you know earlier on… I'm sorry."

Antonio looks up from his lap, and for the first time he doesn't see Lovino's eyes. The only thing is sees is the back of Lovino's head, as the other man brings up both hands to wipe his face. His frame is shaking slightly, and at that moment Antonio feels like the worst person on earth, because what kind of person makes his boyfriend cry on the night of their supposed second date?

"Why?" Lovino breaks the silence for the second time in the night, and Antonio decides to tell him everything.

He tells him about his first job, of how he was put in charge of helping depressed teenagers, and how initially everything was perfect because his clients always got better. He got his thank you cards and even a promotion, which was when he met Emma.

He started to get assigned the more "challenging" clients, as phrased by Sadiq, and for the first time he saw people leave and never come back again. It was normal for people to change psychologists or even decide that therapy wasn't working out for them, yet Antonio was someone who took every decision to leave personally. Sure, he did manage to help some of them, but he just couldn't shake off the feeling that the people he had failed to help never got better. And that was because _he_ wasn't good enough.

Antonio tells Lovino about Emma, the woman he was assigned to be partners with when he was selected to lead the various support groups. He tells him about how Emma became one of his closest confidantes, and how she could even set the most stubborn of clients on the road to recovery. There was this particular client, a Russian who was a bit too old to be in the support group but somehow got placed in there anyway. He terrified everyone but took a liking to Emma, and with her and Antonio's help, managed to head towards recovery. Antonio had been on good terms with him, but it was mainly Emma who helped him regain hope again despite years of childhood abuse.

Throughout everything, Lovino listens attentively, frowning every now and then but never diverting his attention. When Antonio gets to Emma's suicide and begins to heave, Lovino takes his hand again and traces patterns over and over onto his palm. He draws circles and curves, and Antonio slowly lets out detail by detail – how no one had expected it, how Emma began giving out her things and how their boss came in the next day and told them that she had been found hanging in her bedroom by her brother.

That day was the moment everything finally broke apart for Antonio. He had lost his best friend without even knowing why, yet the first thing he had done was to begin blaming himself for not making more of an effort to check that Emma was really okay. No one had expected her to be suicidal though, because she had been quite literally the sunshine amongst the colleagues.

Antonio confesses that he doesn't know why Emma decided to take her own life, and he only knows that he avoided Abel, Emma's brother, when he tried to meet up with him. When Lovino asks him for the reason, the only reasonable thing that he manages to come up with is that he had lacked the courage to face reality then. He had even skipped Emma's funeral – choosing instead to hide himself away and blame himself over and over again.

"I hated myself," Antonio finally says, "And now I still think I do."

"I hated myself because I couldn't do anything about it. Because by the time I knew that she wasn't happy, she was already gone. She had always been the person I chose to confide in, and when I got stressed she would always be there for me. I just… I was so selfish! I never asked her if she was doing alright too. I-" Antonio feels something wet trickle down his cheek, "It was my fault."

"But the thing is, you never know if it really was your fault. I bet other people well, blamed themselves too – did you try talking to your colleagues about it?"

Antonio shakes his head, explaining that he decided to resign from his job soon after Emma's death.

"Bastard, you ought to have given yourself a chance back then," Lovino suggests, and Antonio manages a breathy laugh.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe I should have made an effort to understand why Emma did what she did.

He snatches the tissue box from the coffee table and wipes his face hastily, sniffling and trying to send Lovino one of his reassuring smiles.

Lovino pinches him, calling him stupid for trying to smile at such a time, yet he looks visibly more relieved at hearing Antonio finally let his issues out.

The Spaniard himself feels a bit lighter at having finally told Lovino – who has surprisingly still stayed beside him, unmoving – but he reminds the Italian that it is too late to find out about Emma now.

For a moment, Lovino looks as if he is about to say something, but then he swallows back his words and asks, "So, what about now? How did all _this_ start?"

"Sometimes I lie awake at night, just staring at the ceiling and wondering what would happen if I were to not exist. If I were to just disappear, maybe the world would be a better place. Maybe Francis and Gilbert will have one less person to worry about, or my therapist will have one less client."

"How… How often do these thoughts come?"

"Every time," his voice has fallen to a whisper. "They always come. Even when I'm outside and I'm doing something like grocery shopping, they're there. The voices in my head never stop talking. They never stop telling me how useless I am and how I'm never going to be good enough."

"And the thing is, I let them. I'm so weak, Lovi. I let them win. I let them push me to the edge, until on most days I'm feeling as if one small step will cause me to fall. I let them push me until I started wondering how falling would be like. Until I started craving flying through air and tasting concrete, until even when I close my eyes the smell of metal and blood still haunts me."

"I began hurting myself after Emma's death. It's so twisted that I used to be someone who got people out of self-harm, yet here I am – I can't live without it. And now I know why other people choose to do it in the first place." "People ask me why, and I think, why not? I'm so horribly messed up, and I'm just an extension in this universe. Have you ever just thought about how in the grand scheme of things you're just one in a billion, and someday you're going to end up as a pile of ash and nothing you have done will really matter anymore? I don't even like myself; I don't feel like I belong at all -"

"No!" Lovino interrupts him loudly. "T-that's not true at all! That's not fucking true, and yes ultimately the world is a big place and you are only a minute part of it, but to some people you aren't. W-well to me you aren't. And I don't give a fuck about what those fucking voices in your head think because if there were to be no Antonio Fernández Carriedo tomorrow, the stars would not shine as brightly. At least to me."

Antonio is at a loss for words. He stares and stares, as the hurricane of emotions in Lovino's eyes reaches its peak and Lovino is looking at him with such an intensity that it hits Antonio why he even thought Lovino had a soul of fire in the first place.

"I don't know much about this Emma person, but fuck, I am going to do everything I can to help you figure everything out. I think when I was in the car with you I already kind of realized that I was going on some kind of ride with you. In a metaphorical kind of way or some shit. And alright, so this ride is going to be a bit crazier, but you know what? I think you are worth it. I can make this long-ass list of things that I l-like about you. For example, you care. You care about me, even though I grew up being called anti-social and all that crap and I am practically the most uninteresting person you know."

Lovino waves a hand to shut Antonio up when he tries to rebut that last point.

"You are like…" Lovino wrinkles his nose again, gesticulating in an attempt to find the right words, "The fire in our fireplace back in Florence. Always there. Always steady. Somewhere I can go home to."

"So fuck those voices. We'll do this together. I'll fight them with you; I'll make sure they shut the hell up and stop doing whatever the fuck they're doing to ruin you. You're not broken, Antonio. Do you hear me? You're not fucking damaged, you're just a little lost but we all get lost sometimes too; and you're going to find your way around. I'm going to make sure you do. You're not alone in this. Please don't ever believe you're alone."

Antonio hasn't spoken yet, but when he finally does the first thing he tells Lovino is, "You've got the words of a poet, Lovi."

"Pfft. Yeah, right. I might have the words of a "poet", but you have the heart of one. You're so passionate about people, yet you forget that you are human too."

"I guess poets do have a sad side to them then," Antonio replies, lips curling into a small smile.

There is sadness in that watery smile of his, but then Lovino scoots over and wraps his arms around him, and he really believes that he will be able to pull through everything.

_"But ah, thank you so much."_

Their bodies are twisted in an uncomfortable position on the sofa and Antonio has just poured his entire lifetime's worth of angst out to Lovino, yet to both of them, everything in that space in time is absolutely perfect.

Because at that moment, they believe they are going to be okay.


End file.
